WARD  BY 

MARGARET  E .  SANGSTER 


a 


> 


OF  CALIF.  LIBfiABY,  LOS  AlfGfiLBS 


MARGARET  E.  SANGSTER'S 
IDEAL   GIFT   BOOKS 


3oth  1,000 

Winsome  Womanhood.     New  Large 

Paper  Edition  de  Luxe,  with  Illuminated 
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"A  group  of  short  essays  divided  into  four  parts.  The  first 
depicts  all  the  relations  to  home  and  outside  life  of  a  young  girl 
from  fifteen  years  of  age  up  to  her  wedding  day.  The  other  por 
tions  deal  with  High  Noon,  Eventide,  The  Rounded  Life. 

"It  will  find  the  immediate  approval  of  the  feminine  heart, 
for  upon  each  page  will  be  found  a  dainty  reproduction  of  articles 
treasured  by  my  lady  when  she  pursues  the  gentler  arts  of  home- 
making." — Out  loot. 

"An  exquisite  book,  written  in  the  sweetest  spirit,  out  of  the 
ripest  wisdom  and  the  tenderest  love.  It  ought  to  stand  at  the 
very  head  of  all  Mrs.  Sangster's  publications  in  popularity." — Tht 
Inttrior. 

Lyrics  Of  Love  Of  Hearth  and  Home  and 
Field  and  Garden.  Printed  in  two  colors. 
I  2mo,  decorated  cloth,  net  $1.25. 

"The  book  is  in  keeping  with  the  poems,  dainty,  restful  to 
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yet  rich  ornamentations  make  it  a  most  attractive  gift  book. 
Among  the  best  of  our  living  poets." — Boiton  Travtler. 

"Mrs.  Sangster  writes  tenderly  and  sympathetically  with  a 
desire  to  add  a  thread  of  melody  to  the  toiling,  dusty,  monotonous 
way  of  life.  The  book  is  beautifully  made  and  each  page  chastely 
decorated." — Public  Ofinion. 


FLEMING  H.   REVELL    COMPANY 

NEW  YORK.  CHICAGO  TORONTO 


Janet  Ward 


Daughter 
of  the  Manse 

By 

MARGARET  E.  SANGSTER 

Author  of 

"Winsome  Womanhood" 
"Lyrics  of  Love"  fcfc.,  £sfc. 


New  York     Chicago     Toronto 

FLEMING   H.  REVELL   COMPANY 

London  &  Edinburgh 


Copyright   1902  by 
FLEMING  H.  REVELL  COMPANY 

(September) 


To  My  Friend 
JANE  E.  MEEKER 


2132523 


FOREWORD 


IN  Janet  Ward  I  have  tried  to  tell  the  story  of  a 
girl  of  to-day.  Conditions  change,  but  girlhood 
remains  essentially  the  same  in  the  passing  years. 
Girls  confront  life,  and  life  wears  the  aspect  of  the 
sphynx.  What  shall  it  offer  them,  what  gifts  be 
stow,  what  good  shall  they  do  ?  Girls  are  restless, 
they  long  for  careers,  they  are  caught  in  the  whirl  of 
the  period.  They  acknowledge  the  claim  that  society 
in  the  realm  of  poverty,  as  in  that  of  wealth,  has 
upon  them,  every  one.  In  the  end,  with  my  Janet, 
those  are  the  happiest  who  find  their  career  ending 
in  a  good  man's  love,  and  their  world  bounded  by 
the  four  walls  of  home. 

MARGARET  E.  SANGSTER. 


CONTENTS 


I.  "Janet  Starts  Out  for  Herself  1 1 

//.  Nancy  Wiburn      ....  26 

///.  Changes 45 

IV.  Friends  Together    ....  59 

V.  In  South  Hall  and  Farther  Afield  70 

VI.  Futures 84 

VII.  In  a  Tennessee  Manse      .      .  97 

VIII.  Belle  Nelson's  Story    .      .      .  109 

IX.  A  Preaching  Service  .      .      .  120 

X.  A  Busy  Winter     .      .      .      .  131 

XL  Easter  Tide 142 

XII.  In  an  Editor  s  Office  .      .     .  159 

XIII.  A  Girl  Colony       ....  173 

XIV.  Disappointment      and     Hope 

Deferred 185 


io  CONTENTS 

XV.  The  Course  of  True  Love   .  195 

XVI.  Settlement  Work       .      .      .  206 

XVII.  An  East  Side  Mission  .      .  220 

XVIII.  Back  to  the  Manse  .      .      .  230 

XIX.  Home  Without  a  Mother    .  242 

XX.  Fame  Not  Enough  .      .      .  250 

XXI.  Theodore  and  I  .      ,      .      .  258 

XXII.  Two  Against  the  World      .  267 

XXIII.  I    Have    Fought  a    Good 

Fight 287 


Janet 


JANET  STARTS  OUT  FOR  HERSELF 

"^1"  WOULD  put  my  work  aside  now  if  I  were 
you,  daughter." 

I  "Oh,  mother  dear,  please  let  me  finish  this 
bit  of  hemstitching.  The  light  is  so  fine  to-day.  It 
was  only  in  winter  when  the  clouds  hung  low,  that 
the  light  was  trying.  My  eyes  are  very  strong." 

"  I  don't  like  to  see  you  so  absorbed,  Janet.  What 
ever  you  do  takes  too  much  out  of  you,  with  your 
hammer  and  tongs  attention.  Even  a  piece  of  em 
broidery  uses  up  every  bit  of  your  vitality.  It  isn't 
wise,  dear." 

"I'll  be  done  soon,  mother,  just  a  few  stitches 
more  remain  to  finish  this." 

Silence  fell  between  the  two,  the  young  girl  bend 
ing  over  a  task  of  dainty  lingerie,  the  faded  little 
woman,  whose  book  lay  neglected  upon  her  lap. 
Janet's  needle  went  out  and  in. 

"She  is  growing  more  like  her  father  every  day," 
the  mother  thought,  with  a  wistful  look  at  the  brown 
head,  smoothly  braided,  and  the  firm  set  girlish 
mouth.  Mrs.  Ward  was  tired,  discouraged,  and 

ii 


12  JANET  WARD 

somewhat  blue,  but  she  fought  her  fiend  of  depres 
sion  bravely.  What  use  would  it  be  to  let  Janet  or 
even  her  husband,  tramping  in  his  study,  to  and  fro, 
know  that  she  felt  melancholy  ?  It  would  only  dis 
tress  them  and  they  could  not  help  her.  Nobody 
could,  in  her  darkest  hours.  She  did  not  think  God 
could,  but  fortunately  these  black  hours  came  seldom. 
Generally  Mrs.  Ward  was  able  to  stand  outside  her 
discouragement,  and  view  it  as  it  was,  the  result  of 
overwork  and  anxiety,  but  not  always.  She  made  a 
resolute  battle  with  it,  prayed  against  it,  and  often 
came  off  victorious.  The  instinct  to  hide  her  mel 
ancholy  was  born  of  most  unselfish  love  for  those 
whom  the  sight  of  it  saddened. 

"  I  am  glad  Janet  is  her  father's  child,"  she  thought, 
and  then  before  there  was  time  for  any  more  thought 
or  speech,  down  came  the  minister  from  his  study,  a 
dingy  den  above  stairs.  It  was  really  the  coziest  and 
most  popular  room  in  the  house,  the  true  household 
room,  though  the  minister  wrote  and  read  and  studied 
there.  He  was  one  of  the  rare  students  whose  con 
centration  is  so  perfect  that  they  are  never  inter 
rupted  by  what  is  going  on  around  them.  A  man 
who  cannot  compass  the  luxury  of  solitude,  learns  to 
be  indifferent  to  its  charms,  and  David  Ward's  life 
had  never  been  very  much  apart  from  that  of  his 
family. 

The  family  was  large  and  the  house  was  small,  and 
there  was  always,  when  he  needed  to  be  alone,  the 
wide  outdoors,  the  field,  the  lane,  the  God's  acre 
behind  the  little  church.  As  for  the  study,  the  boys 
loved  and  shared  it  when  they  were  in  the  house, 
reading  over  and  over  the  few  books  they  found  en- 


STARTS  OUT  FOR  HERSELF    13 

tertaining,  veritable  oases  in  an  arid  desert  of  con 
cordances  and  commentaries,  which  loomed  large 
and  dark  on  the  home-made  pine  shelves. 

Mrs.  Ward  wrote  her  letters  on  a  corner  of  the 
minister's  table,  a  habit  begun  when  she  was  a  bride 
and  he  used  to  say  that  the  sermon  came  sooner, 
like  butter  from  the  churn,  if  he  could  now  and  then 
look  up  and  catch  the  gleam  of  her  brown  eyes,  or 
see  the  sun  glinting  on  her  golden  hair.  She  con 
tinued  to  sit  there,  now  that  the  golden  tints  in  her 
hair  were  fading,  and  the  delicate  bloom  had  gone 
from  her  cheek,  and  the  minister  still  thought  her 
very  beautiful.  But  I  don't  know  that  her  presence 
helped  the  sermon  much.  Five  hungry  lads,  grow 
ing  out  of  their  jackets  and  shoes  faster  than  a  scanty 
purse  can  replace  them,  an  ambitious  young  daughter 
to  educate,  the  sense  of  reaching  middle  age  with  no 
prospect  of  an  advance  in  position,  are  so  many  sep 
arate  handicaps  in  a  race  where  time  has  the  ad 
vantage,  and  a  suspicion  of  failure  is  paralyzing. 
Mrs.  Ward  zealously  believed  in  her  husband,  and 
longed  that  others  might  do  so,  but  here  he  was,  at 
fifty,  with  no  city  parish  beckoning,  working  among 
the  same  plain  folk  who  had  called  him  when  he  left 
the  seminary.  Sometimes  she  shuddered  in  terror  of 
that  spectre  which  haunts  so  many  ministers'  wives, 
the  dread  that  her  husband  shall  fail  to  please  the 
young  people;  those  critical  auditors  whom  the  min 
ister  has,  maybe,  known  from  their  babyhood. 
Sighs,  though  suppressed,  do  not  help  sermons,  and 
Mr.  Ward  wrote  more  easily  when  his  wife  was  out 
of  the  room.  Happily  for  himself  he  was  an  op 
timist,  the  least  exacting  and  the  most  sympathetic 


14  JANET: 

of  men.  Lovable,  loving,  impulsive,  pinning  his 
faith  to  the  possibilities  of  to-morrow,  forever  cer 
tain  that  something  very  bright  was  waiting  just 
around  the  turn  of  the  road,  he  was  a  charming 
friend,  a  faithful  pastor,  and  sanguine  yet,  though  no 
farther  along  in  the  path  of  what  men  of  the  world 
call  success,  than  he  had  been  at  twenty-three. 

He  came  into  the  room  with  a  rush  as  usual, 
waving  some  closely  written  sheets  of  paper  over 
his  head.  Janet  glanced  at  his  excited  face,  smiling 
a  welcome. 

"  Here  you  are,  my  dearest,  and  Janet  too!  I  want 
to  try  my  essay  on  you.  It's  my  turn  to  read  at  the 
Omega,  next  Saturday  evening,  and  I've  been  peg 
ging  away  at  this  for  the  last  two  days.  I  think, 
myself,  it's  pretty  decent:  a  study  of  Petrarch;  at 
least  it  will  be  a  change  from  the  polemics  that 
some  of  the  fellows  are  so  fond  of.  Now,  Janet,  put 
away  that  sewing  and  give  me  your  attention,  please. 
If  any  criticism  occurs  to  either  of  you,  let  me  hear 
it  very  frankly." 

He  plunged  in  medias  res,  reading  as  he  did  every 
thing  else,  with  headlong  speed  and  dash,  whirling 
forward  in  his  theme,  with  boyish  delight.  Mrs. 
Ward  listened,  caring  nothing  for  the  old  Italian  poet 
who  bored  her  excessively,  but  seeing  as  she  always 
did,  the  eager  brightness  of  her  comrade  on  the  road 
who  would  never  grow  old,  either  in  his  own  per 
sonality,  or  to  her.  Janet,  like  both  parents  in  some 
features  of  her  nature,  gave  the  paper  a  divided  in 
terest.  She  knew  it  was  fine  and  scholarly.  She 
also  knew  that  the  Omegas  were  not  famishing  for  a 
purely  literary  paper  and  she  did  wish  her  father  had 


STARTS  OUT  FOR  HERSELF    15 

chosen  to  write  something  more  seasonable  and 
timely  in  topic.  They  never  appreciated  the  by 
ways  of  thought  and  literary  research,  which  to  Mr. 
Ward  were  always  so  alluring. 

"Why  couldn't  he  have  been  a  professor  in  some 
great  college?"  thought  the  daughter,  following  the 
rhythmic  voice,  watching  the  kindling  eye.  "A 
country  parish  is  the  last  place  for  my  father." 

He  was  reaching  the  final  period,  breathless,  and 
animated,  when  a  shadow  darkened  the  doorway. 
Entering  without  more  ceremony  than  the  briefest, 
most  perfunctory  knock,  the  newcomer  brusquely 
addressed  the  head  of  the  house. 

"  I  say,  dominie,  do  you  know  that  Mr.  Warren 
is  very  sick  ?  The  family  feel  hurt  that  you  haven't 
been  in  to  ask  for  him  since  Monday,  and  they  are 
too  important  to  be  affronted." 

Mr.  Ward's  sensitive  countenance  was  shadowed  at 
the  intrusion,  and  the  peremptory  tone.  "Thank 
you,  Mr.  Leland,"  he  said,  "you  are  very  good.  Mr. 
Warren  is  not  well  enough  to  see  a  visitor  and  the 
family  are  too  busy  to  be  interrupted.  I  usually 
know  who  is  ill  in  the  congregation." 

"And  I've  been  there  twice  since  Monday,"  added 
Janet  positively,  with  a  little  challenging  inflection  in 
her  girlish  voice. 

"You  are  nothing  but  a  young  woman,  hardly 
that,  yet,"  said  the  visitor,  bringing  his  gaze  to  bear 
on  Janet,  from  under  bushy  brows.  "Not  one  who 
can  take  the  place  of  a  minister  of  the  gospel  at  a 
sick  bed,  let  alone  one's  own  pastor." 

"I'll  step  right  over  now,"  interjected  Mr.  Ward 
hastily,  folding  the  little  packet  of  paper  up,  and 


1 6  JANET  WARD 

slipping  it  into  his  breast  pocket.  For  the  moment 
the  glamour  had  vanished  from  Petrarch.  He  hurried 
on  hat  and  coat,  and  was  gone  in  an  instant. 

"That's  him,  for  all  the  world,"  ejaculated  the  vis 
itor,  ponderously,  "just  touch  and  go.  He  can't  see 
Brother  Warren  to-day  and  he'll  tell  Mrs.  Warren  I 
sent  him.  Why  in  the  living  earth  couldn't  he 
a- waited  and  talked  things  over?" 

"Father  tries  to  do  his  duty,"  answered  Janet, 
again  with  the  little  defiant  ring  in  her  voice.  Mr. 
Leland  always  rubbed  her  the  wrong  way.  And  he 
was  so  often,  as  now,  inopportune. 

"Nobody  said  he  didn't,  Janet,"  replied  the  thorn 
in  the  minister's  side,  for  this  was  the  self-consti 
tuted  office  of  Reuben  Leland,  in  the  parish.  "  But  he 
does  spend  too  much  time  over  his  books  and  his 
sermons,  and  not  enough  over  us;  he  isn't  around 
enough  in  the  homes  of  his  people,  that's  why  I,  who 
am  his  friend,  come  and  stir  him  up.  I  don't  talk 
behind  his  back.  I  know  our  people.  They  like  a 
man  who  drops  in  sociably  and  stays  to  supper,  and 
hobnobs  more  with  the  young  folks  than  our  minister 
does.  First  thing  we  know  the  new  church  at  the 
centre  will  be  getting  our  people  away.  I'm  friendly 
to  Dominie  Ward,  so  I  come  and  tell  him  to  his  face, 
what  others  whisper  when  his  back  is  turned.  I'm 
a  plain-spoken,  rough  and  ready  man,  Mrs.  Ward, 
you  ought  to  know  me  by  this  time.  He'd  ought  to 
play  golf  and  baseball,  you  tell  him  I  say  so." 

"I  am  sure  we  have  no  more  sincere  well-wisher 
in  the  congregation  than  you,  Mr.  Leland,"  said  Mrs. 
Ward,  with  the  ready  tact  of  a  minister's  wife,  at  the 
same  time  motioning  Janet  to  be  silent  with  an  al- 


our  FOR  HERSELF  17 

most  imperceptible  nod.  Mrs.  Ward's  blues  took 
flight  when  she  must  conciliate  some  one  for  David's 
sake. 

Janet  bit  her  lips,  and  took  up  her  needlework 
again.  After  a  few  moments  more  of  conversation 
mostly  one-sided,  the  caller  took  himself  heavily  off, 
and  the  young  girl,  as  he  departed  down  the  road, 
shook  her  fist  at  his  retreating  figure. 

Her  mother  said,  "Don't  do  that,  dear.  There  are 
worse  men  than  Mr.  Leland.  He's  dull,  but  honest." 

"Few  more  disagreeable  ones,  mother:  he's  a 
regular  Mr.  Pumblechook.  I  wish  father  could  have 
a  chance  somewhere  else." 

"So  do  I,  but  nothing  looms  up  on  the  horizon  just 
now,  daughter,  and  I  think  we  should  not  be  wishing 
for  it.  The  people  here  are  very  kind  and  love  their 
church." 

"But  they  don't  pay  the  salary  promptly,  and  the 
salary  is  so  small  anyway.  Never  mind,  one  of  these 
days  when  I've  finished  college,  and  the  boys  are  old 
enough  to  help  along,  times  will  be  better  in  this 
manse.  I  hope  none  of  my  brothers  will  enter  the 
ministry." 

"I'd  like  one  of  my  sons  to  stand  in  his  father's 
place,  and  preach  the  word,"  said  the  mother.  "  I'm 
often  more  disheartened  than  you  dream,  my  dear, 
often  I  can't  see  an  inch  ahead,  and  I  have  very  little 
faith,  I'm  not  naturally  buoyant,  as  your  father  is,  but 
I  do  pray  that  I  may  have  a  man  to  stand  before  the 
Lord,  from  my  bunch  of  bonny  boys." 

"You  are  a  good  woman,  mother."  Janet  jumped 
up  impulsively  and  kissed  her.  "  I'll  never  be  half  so 
good  if  I  live  to  be  a  hundred.  There,  sweetness, 


1 8  JANET: 

don't  cry,"  and  she  kissed  her  again.  "  I'll  slip  away, 
meet  my  father,  and  make  one  or  two  little  visits 
with  him,  before  supper.  There's  time  enough,"  she 
said.  "And  coming  back,  we'll  bring  the  mail.  If 
only  I  can  get  that  school  at  Dene's  Mills  this  sum 
mer,  it'll  help  clothe  me  for  college,  and  having  the 
scholarship  will  make  everything  beautifully  smooth." 

"It's  going  to  be  lonesome  here  without  you, 
Janet.  I  wish  it  were  as  it  used  to  be,  that  a  girl 
could  receive  her  education  at  home,  and  not  have  to 
go  away.  Four  years  is  such  a  long  stretch  in  a  girl's 
life." 

"Nobody  can  be  properly  prepared  for  a  position 
of  influence  in  these  days,  without  a  more  elaborate 
education  than  used  to  be  necessary,"  said  Janet. 
"  And  one  must  have  a  diploma.  But  don't  borrow 
trouble,  little  mother.  It's  only  one  day  at  a  time, 
after  all.  I'm  off."  She  ran  down  the  garden  walk 
whistling  a  merry  stave,  like  a  boy  or  a  bird. 

Her  mother  was  doubtful  about  that  whistling  of 
Janet's.  She  could  imitate  robin  or  thrush  so  per 
fectly  that  if  you  were  in  another  room,  you  looked 
about  for  the  hidden  warbler,  but  Mrs.  Ward  hardly 
approved  of  the  accomplishment  in  a  girl.  Still, 
Janet's  cheer  was  so  overflowing  in  its  sunny  glad 
ness  that  she  could  not  ask  her  to  stop;  the  low 
mood  crept  over  her  with  an  insistent  depth  and 
chill,  as  she  fancied  home  lacking  Janet's  songs  and 
roulades,  her  trilling  whistle,  her  fingers  on  the 
piano,  her  quick  impulsive  energy  all  over  the  manse. 
Mothers  have  more  to  sacrifice  than  girls  dream, 
when  they  send  their  daughters  away.  The  college 
class-room  is  the  unseen  battle-ground  where  some 


STARTS  OUT  FOR  HERSELF    19 

mothers  as  well  as  many  daughters  fight  a  good  fight 
and  win  the  victory. 

Springdale  was  putting  on  its  May  time  cloth  of 
gold  and  sheen  of  blossoms,  when  Janet  left  it,  for 
the  first  time  in  her  life  all  alone,  to  begin  her 
struggle  for  a  foothold.  A  certain  rich  Aunt  Kath- 
erine  in  the  background  of  the  manse,  had  often  sup 
plemented  the  deficiencies  of  the  minister's  purse,  but 
she  was  at  present,  lingering  abroad,  and  as  Janet 
grew  older,  she  did  not  feel  quite  so  happy  as  she 
once  did,  wearing  the  frocks  which  were  made  over 
for  her  from  Aunt  Katherine's  discarded  gowns. 

"Her  heart  is  set  on  earning  for  herself,  dearest," 
said  the  minister.  "Why  not  let  her  try  ?  " 

"Aunt  Kate  would  disapprove  of  the  step,  I  am 
sure." 

"Aunt  Kate  is  in  Europe." 

"  Janet  will  be  among  strangers." 

"Among  kindly  strangers.  It  will  be  a  good 
preparation  for  her  absence  next  year,  this  four 
months  of  district  school  teaching.  And  she'll  have 
a  Sabbath  with  us,  now  and  then,  bless  the  child.  I 
shall  miss  her  terribly  too,  but  she's  right  to  go." 

When  the  train  puffed  away  from  the  station,  and 
the  girl  seated  by  the  window,  saw  father,  mother, 
and  brothers  on  the  platform,  with  a  dozen  or  more 
of  her  friends,  all  waving  her  good-bye,  she  felt  like 
a  very  little  girl  indeed.  Eighteen  often  bears,  on 
its  young  shoulders,  the  weight  of  forty-five,  and 
forty-five  will  tell  you  that  it  feels  as  young  as  eight 
een.  Janet  pulled  her  veil  over  her  face.  She  did 
not  wish  the  conductor  or  any  fellow-passenger  to 
suspect  that  she  was  almost  in  tears,  so  she  swal- 


20  JANET  WARD 

lowed  very  hard,  and  set  her  teeth,  and  she  was 
fully  ten  miles  from  Springdale,  before  she  began  to 
look  around  her  with  curiosity  and  interest.  The 
train  carried  her  on  for  three  hours,  winding  round 
curves,  crossing  rivers,  climbing  mountains,  till  at 
last  her  station  was  reached.  When  she  stepped  out 
on  the  lonely  landing  at  Dene's  Mills,  and  her  trunk 
was  deposited  beside  her,  she  was  startled  to  find 
herself  solitary  in  an  unfamiliar  world,  without  a 
house  or  a  person  in  sight.  The  waiting  room  was 
locked,  the  agent  having  gone  home  to  dinner.  On 
every  side  the  great  mountains  lifted  strong  ramparts, 
timbered  to  their  tops;  a  road  lost  itself  among  the 
hills,  but  no  village  was  visible. 

Janet  opened  her  satchel,  and  read  for  the  twentieth 
time,  the  letter  which  had  been  to  her  the  chart  for 
her  journey:  "Leave  the  train  at  Fells  Junction. 
Some  one  will  meet  you."  This  was  Fells  Junction. 

"There  is  nothing  to  do  but  to  wait,"  she  said, 
sitting  down  on  the  bench  that  stood  before  the 
closed  door.  As  she  seated  herself  in  the  absolute 
stillness  of  noonday,  alone  in  a  country  place,  to 
which  Springdale  with  its  thriving  village  life, 
seemed  by  contrast  a  city,  she  began  to  wonder  what 
she  should  do,  if  she  had  made  a  mistake  in  the  day 
or  the  train,  or  if,  as  she  fancied,  the  people  to  whom 
she  was  going,  had  forgotten  all  about  her  existence. 

Even  as  she  speculated  on  this  alarming  possibility, 
her  ear  caught  the  sound  of  hoof  beats,  and  presently 
a  girl,  no  older  than  herself,  driving  a  pony,  and 
seated  in  a  trim  little  runabout,  came  hurriedly  up, 
and  sprang  out,  full  of  apologies. 

"  Miss  Ward,  I  am  sure.     I  am  Elizabeth  Evans.     I 


STARTS  OUT  FOR  HERSELF    21 

beg  pardon  for  keeping  you  waiting,  but  I  was  not 
quite  soon  enough  about  starting.  Are  you  very 
tired,  Miss  Ward  ?  I  think  we'll  send  over  for  your 
trunk  this  afternoon.  It  will  be  safe  here.  Nobody 
ever  molests  luggage  and  there  isn't  a  cloud  in  the 
sky.  Wouldn't  you  like  a  little  drive,  to  view  the 
landscape  o'er,  before  we  go  home  ?" 

"If  you  don't  mind,"  said  Janet,  "I'd  like,  Miss 
Evans,  to  stop  and  see  Mrs.  Hardwick,  who  is,  I  be 
lieve,  to  be  my  hostess.  The  trustees  wrote  that  the 
teacher  boarded  with  Mrs.  Hardwick." 

"That  is  usually  the  case,"  said  Miss  Evans,  "but 
it  isn't  to  be  so  with  you.  When  my  father  dis 
covered  that  you  were  the  daughter  of  his  old  class 
mate,  David  Ward,  he  at  once  arranged  that  you 
should  come  to  us,  and,  really,  I'm  sure  it  will  be 
more  comfortable  for  you.  We  have  a  big  house 
and  quantities  of  room.  We  will  make  you  one  of 
ourselves,  and  as  I,  too,  am  going  to  Lucas  College 
next  autumn,  we'll  have  all  summer  to  get  well  ac 
quainted.  Nothing  could  be  nicer." 

Janet  had  never  had  so  complete  a  surprise.  She 
thought  of  the  text  that  she  had  read  that  morning 
in  her  calendar. 

"The  lines  have  fallen  unto  me  in  pleasant  places 
and  I  have  a  goodly  heritage."  Truly  it  was  being 
realized  to  her  in  this  cordial  meeting  with  a  girl  who 
started  in  at  once  on  lines  of  friendliness. 

"Your  father  must  have  been  Horace  Evans!" 
Janet  said.  "I  have  heard  about  most  of  my  dear 
dad's  chums  and  classmates.  He  has  an  album  full 
of  their  photographs,  and  we  children  have  known 
most  of  the  men  by  name  ever  since  we  first  looked 


22  JANET  WARD 

at  pictures.  There's  very  little  going  on  at  Spring- 
dale  except  the  congregation,  so  we  are  very  intimate 
at  the  manse,  more  so  than  most  families,  I  fancy." 

"  Well,"  said  Elizabeth,  "  I've  never  been  intimate 
with  my  father,  I  wish  I  were.  He's  a  very  busy 
man,  here  and  there,  and  everywhere,  and  wrapped 
up  in  making  money,  but  he  has  odd  moments  of 
sentiment,  and  when  he  heard  about  you,  one 
of  them  flashed  up.  'Dave  Ward's  daughter,'  he 
said,  '  shall  not  eat  hardtack  at  Mary  Hardwick's.  I 
wish  she  could  find  a  better  job  than  teaching  the 
factory  kids,  but  I  haven't  any  myself,  and  we're  in 
luck  to  get  her  for  them.'  So  it  is  settled,  Miss 
Ward,  that  you  are  to  be  our  guest." 

Janet  felt  a  slight  hesitation;  she  knew  that  in  this 
first  flight  from  the  nest,  she  had  meant  to  be  inde 
pendent,  yet  it  seemed  ungracious  to  refuse  the 
invitation  that  had  dropped  on  her  from  the  sky. 
Elizabeth  was  turning  in  at  the  lodge-gate  and  bow 
ling  presently  over  a  wide  well-kept  avenue  between 
park-like  sweeps  of  velvet  turf  and  great  trees  that 
cast  broad  shadows  under  arching  boughs. 

"I  would  have  written  myself  and  invited  you, 
Miss  Ward,  but  father  said  no,  I'd  better  not;  maybe 
you  wouldn't  understand  the  situation,  so  I  took  his 
advice,  and  so  here  we  are." 

Late  that  afternoon,  when  Janet's  trunk  was  un 
packed,  her  modest  outfit  put  away  in  the  closet  and 
bureau,  and  the  trunk  itself  carried  away  to  some 
invisible  attic,  she  looked  around  her  in  a  little  un 
easiness  of  mind.  In  the  simple  economy  of  the 
manse  there  had  been  no  such  luxury  as  she  saw 
around  her  here;  her  chamber  with  its  outlook  to 


STARTS  OUT  FOR  HERSELF    23 

the  sunrise  was  spacious  and  beautifully  furnished;  a 
bath-room  with  every  equipment  was  connected  with 
it  en  suite  for  her  personal  use,  and  on  the  dressing- 
table  were  articles  of  shining  silver,  fit  for  the  hand 
ling  of  a  princess. 

"  I  have  come  to  the  mountains  to  teach  a  district 
school  in  the  coal  country,"  she  said  to  herself,  "and 
I  am  entertained  in  the  home  of  a  millionaire,  with 
everything  that  wealth  can  buy.  It  surely  isn't  right 
for  me  to  stay,  yet  how  am  I  to  go  ?  Mother  would 
love  to  see  this  house,  and  these  people,  who  are  so 
kind  and  unostentatious.  How  pretty  she  would  be, 
dressed  as  Mrs.  Evans  is,  in  soft  rich  black  silk  with 
beautiful  lace  and  jewels  at  her  neck,  and  rings  on 
her  hands;  dear  mother's  hands  that  have  had  so 
much  work  to  do,  and  never  have  had  any  rings  but 
two,  her  wedding  and  engagement  rings.  Well," 
she  went  on,  silently  communing  with  her  own 
heart,  "  I  must  at  least  stay  a  little  while,  but  prob 
ably  they'll  soon  discover  that  a  working-bee  is  out 
of  place  here,  and  be  glad  to  let  me  go." 

Janet  took  her  Bible  from  the  stand  where  she  had 
laid  it,  and  sat  down  to  read  her  chapter.  In  all  her 
life,  since  she  had  been  old  enough  to  read,  she  could 
remember  no  night  when  she  had  omitted  reading 
her  portion  of  the  scriptures  before  retiring.  She 
was  in  her  night-dress,  her  hair  loose:  she  looked 
very  young  and  very  fair,  but  it  was  not  of  herself 
she  was  thinking  as  she  turned  to  the  place  in  the 
book,  which  was  her  regular  lesson  in  course.  Her 
mind  was  at  home;  she  knew  that  the  boys  had  gone 
to  bed;  father  and  mother  were  in  the  study;  the 
house  was  desolate  to  them  without  their  Janet.  Her 


24  JANET  WARD 

own  room  door  would  be  shut,  for  mother  could  not 
bear  to  look  in  at  its  emptiness ;  that  bare  bit  of  a  room, 
with  white  bed,  white  bureau,  white  rocker,  blue 
denim  carpet,  white  curtains  tied  with  blue  ribbons, 
was  a  very  sweet  place  to  her  as  she  sat  in  the  statelier 
one,  with  its  more  elegant  appointments.  But  she 
had  set  her  hand  to  the  plow  and  she  would  not  turn 
back.  She  found  the  chapter  and  began  to  read, 
slowly,  and  audibly,  but  in  very  low  tones,  as  her 
custom  was: 

"  I  beseech  you,  therefore,  brethren,  by  the  mercies 
of  God,  that  ye  present  your  bodies,  a  living  sacrifice, 
holy,  acceptable  to  God,  which  is  your  reasonable 
service." 

There  was  a  tap  at  her  door,  and  in  response  to 
her  answer,  it  opened  and  Elizabeth  came  in.  She 
was  in  a  loose  pink  kimono  and  slippers,  her  long 
golden  hair  fell  around  her  like  a  cloak.  When 
she  saw  what  Janet  was  doing,  she  stopped  on  the 
threshold. 

"Oh,  do  you  read  your  Bible  before  you  go  to 
bed?" 

"Yes,"  said  Janet  simply. 

"Then  you  want  to  be  alone.  Anyway,  you 
must  be  tired,  so  I'll  just  say  good-night.  But  it  is 
funny  you  read  it  every  night.  I  suppose  it's  because 
your  father  is  a  minister." 

"No,"  said  Janet.  "It's  because  I  like  to  know 
what  my  Heavenly  Father  has  to  tell  me.  Don't  you 
read  yours  ?" 

"Sometimes,  on  Sundays,"  said  Elizabeth. 
"Good-night.  We  have  breakfast  at  eight.  Sleep 
well." 


STARTS  OUT  FOR  HERSELF    25 

Beside  Janet's  bureau,  in  a  little  silver  frame,  hung 
this  verse,  by  Ellen  M.  Gates: 

"  Sleep  well  within  this  quiet  room 

O  thou  !  whoe'er  thou  art ; 
And  let  no  mournful  yesterday 

Disturb  thy  peaceful  heart, 
Nor  let  to-morrow  scare  thy  rest, 

With  dreams  of  coming  ill ; 
Thy  Maker  is  thy  changeless  friend, 

His  love  surrounds  thee  still. 
Forget  thyself  and  all  the  world, 

Put  out  each  feverish  light, 
The  stars  are  shining  overhead, 

Sleep  sweet — good-night — good-night." 

"  If  that  girl,"  said  Elizabeth  to  herself  in  her 
chamber  across  the  hall,  "  is  going  to  turn  out  a  little 
Puritan,  I  shall  be  sorry  she  came  here.  Deliver  me 
from  a  girl  who  is  too  religious.  She  is  such  a  nice 
looking  girl,  I  hope  she'll  prove  congenial.  Probably 
though,  she  has  been  brought  up  to  think  nearly 
everything  that  is  amusing,  sinful,  and  so  she'll  be 
shocked  dreadfully  at  the  ways  of  some  of  my  friends. 
Well,  time  will  show."  Elizabeth  would  wait. 

Meanwhile  Janet  having  said  her  evening  prayer 
with  a  greater  earnestness  than  usual,  was  fast  asleep 
in  her  strange  quarters,  after  a  day  of  new  experi 
ences.  She  was  too  tired  to  dream,  but  I  think 
the  angels  watched  her  pillow  through  the  night. 


NANCY  WIBURN 

THE  little  red  schoolhouse  was  a  mile  away 
from  Mr.  Evans'  house,  and  Janet  preferred 
walking  to  and  fro,  to  driving  in  Elizabeth's 
carriage.  Mr.  Evans,  watching  her  keenly  in  the 
first  few  days,  decided  that  Dave  Ward's  daughter 
was  a  plucky  and  persevering  young  woman,  and 
that  she  meant  to  earn  her  salary.  As  a  business 
man,  he  prized  business  ways;  and  by  many  little 
attentions  showed  that  Janet  was  high  in  his  favor. 
For  one  thing,  she  fitted  at  once  into  the  household, 
was  never  late  at  a  meal,  never  interrupted  one's  talk 
or  reading,  and  had  the  excellent  art  of  effacing  her 
self  frequently,  so  that  she  was  not  an  intrusion  on 
the  family  life.  Gentle  Mrs.  Evans  liked  her  too, 
and  soon  made  her  feel  entirely  at  home.  The  first 
embarrassment  in  Janet's  mind  arose  on  the  first 
Sabbath  she  passed  at  The  Cedars,  when  the  morning 
broke  darkly  through  enfolding  mists  and  heavy 
clouds,  and  rain  began  to  fall  before  church-time,  a 
heavy  soaking  rain  with  chill  winds. 

Breakfast  was  late.  Janet  came  down  dressed  for 
service,  to  find  Elizabeth  the  only  occupant  of  the 
dining-room. 

"Mother  had  coffee  in  her  room,"  she  said,  "and 
father  breakfasted  alone,  an  hour  ago  and  is  now  in 
the  library  writing  letters.  He  takes  Sunday  morning 

26 


NANCT    ITIBURN  27 

for  that  recreation;  but  surely  dear,  you  are  not 
going  out  in  this  downpour.  There  won't  be  a 
baker's  dozen  in  church  to-day." 

"All  the  more  reason  for  my  going,  then.  I'll 
make  one  more." 

"  But  Janet,  our  minister  has  gone  to  some  ecclesi 
astical  function  or  other,  and  there's  a  stranger  to 
preach,  a  very  tiresome  old  gentleman,  I'm  afraid. 
Let's  stay  at  home  and  rest.  Sunday  was  given 
us  to  rest  in,  don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"Elizabeth  dear,"  both  girls  had  left  formality 
behind,  and  called  one  another  by  their  Christian 
names,  "dad  always  says  he'd  rather  his  people 
would  stay  at  home  when  he's  in  the  pulpit,  than 
when  a  stranger  is;  a  minister  has  a  good  deal  of 
sensitiveness  about  vacant  pews  when  a  friend 
preaches  for  him.  I  have  a  sort  of  loyalty  to  old 
clergymen  too;  they  have  borne  the  burden  and 
the  heat  of  the  day,  and  it's  hard  for  them  to  see 
that  their  day  is  waning,  and  there  is  this  about  it, 
they  have  had  long  years  to  study  and  teach  and 
pray,  and  their  experience  is  worth  something  to 
their  juniors.  But  forgive  me  for  preaching.  I  go 
to  church  through  all  weathers,  unless  I'm  ill." 

"I'll  order  the  horses  then,"  said  Elizabeth  a  little 
coldly.  "  As  a  rule,  father  does  not  have  them  go  out 
on  Sundays.  But  you  can't  walk  through  a  deluge." 

"  I  have  walked  through  many  a  heavier  storm, 
and  should  not  ride,  if  the  carriage  were  at  the  door. 
See,  dear,  I  have  on  a  short  skirt  and  thick  boots,  so 
put  me  out  of  your  mind  directly.  I  know  my  father 
and  mother  expect  me  to  do  here  just  as  I  do  when 
at  home,  and  there's  nothing  but  real  illness  that  ever 


28  JANET  WARD 

effects  our  pew.  I'm  a  minister's  daughter,  and  have 
been  brought  up  to  church-going." 

A  little  later,  the  bells  sounded  faintly  through  the 
uproar  of  the  wind,  and  the  dashing  of  the  rain  in 
sheets  against  the  panes.  Elizabeth  settled  herself  in 
an  easy  chair  with  the  last  new  novel,  and  was  soon 
absorbed  in  its  pages.  Her  father,  glancing  out  of 
the  bay  window  where  his  writing  table  stood, 
observed  a  sturdy  girlish  figure,  in  trim  rainy  day 
costume,  tramping  sturdily  down  the  avenue.  He 
smiled. 

"  Dave's  daughter  is  consistent,  I  see.  I  wonder  if 
she'll  keep  it  up  here.  I  hope  so." 

A  yearning  look  stole  over  the  tired  face.  Some 
how  that  slight  steadily  moving  figure,  unmindful  of 
the  drenching  tempest,  recalled  to  him  another,  older 
and  stouter,  but  equally  energetic  and  equally  reso 
lute  in  church-going,  let  the  weather  have  what 
vagary  it  might.  Horace  Evans  had  a  mental  picture 
of  his  mother,  and  the  curtain  of  the  past,  parting, 
brought  vividly  back  the  plain  home  of  his  boyhood, 
the  Bible  on  the  stand,  the  grace  at  the  table,  and  the 
family  worship  morning  and  night.  Janet's  silent 
grace  at  the  unblessed  meals  in  his  house  was  very 
unobtrusive,  yet  it  had  not  escaped  the  notice  of  her 
host.  Now,  without  intending  it  she  was  a  witness- 
bearer.  Mr.  Evans  put  down  his  pen  and  closed  the 
drawers  of  his  desk.  Presently  he  stopped  at  the 
door  of  the  drawing-room.  "Tell  your  mother, 
Elizabeth,"  he  said,  "that  I've  gone  to  church."  Such 
a  thing  had  not  happened,  wet  or  dry,  hot  or  cold, 
on  the  Sabbath,  in  a  twelvemonth.  It  was  a  genuine 
surprise.  Father,  of  all  people! 


NANCT    WIBURN  29 

Elizabeth  sprang  hastily  up. 

"Wait  five  minutes,  and  I'll  go  too.  I'll  just  slip 
into  another  frock." 

"  You  know,"  she  said,  as  the  two  walked  together 
down  the  road,  now  muddy  and  soft,  "  that  old  Mr. 
Blauvelt  is  to  preach  to-day,  don't  you,  father  ?" 

"It  doesn't  matter  to  me,  daughter,  who  may 
preach.  I'm  not  going  to  hear  a  sermon.  I'm  going, 
because  my  mother  used  to,  and  seeing  little  Janet 
starting  out  so  bravely,  brought  her  suddenly  to  my 
mind.  You  don't  remember  your  grandmother, 
Elizabeth,  but  she  was  a  Christian,  and  didn't  believe 
in  living  for  one  world.  She  lived  for  both.  Maybe 
I've  been  making  a  mistake." 

The  service  had  begun  when  they  reached  the 
church. 

Janet  was  not  in  the  Evans  pew.  Indeed  she  did 
not  know  which  it  was.  There  were  no  ushers  in 
the  small  country  meeting-house,  and  when  she 
stepped  in,  she  saw,  seated  by  herself  in  the  end  of  a 
long  pew,  half  way  down  the  aisle,  a  girl  of  her  own 
age,  whose  quiet,  rather  sad  expression  stirred  her 
interest.  She  stood  a  second  or  two  in  the  door,  and 
the  girl  made  a  half  beckoning  motion;  Janet  entered, 
and  her  companion  handed  her  a  hymn-book. 

The  minister  preached  very  simply  and  sincerely, 
in  words  that  a  child  might  have  comprehended.  It 
was  nothing  to  him  that  his  auditors  were  few. 
That  was  his  Master's  affair.  The  good  old  man  had 
learned  to  leave  such  things  with  Christ.  I  question 
whether  Mr.  Evans  listened  more  than  vaguely  to 
the  preaching.  His  thoughts  were  busy  with  long 
ago.  He  had  a  happy  morning. 


30  JANET  WARD 

When  the  collection  was  taken  there  was  a  crisp 
five  dollar  bill  among  the  pennies  and  nickels.  It 
was  a  thank-offering,  though  the  giver  did  not  call  it 
that.  Horace  Evans  was  aware  of  an  impulse 
towards  nobler  living,  and  over  the  dull  routine  of 
his  money-making  days,  it  had  come  like  the  breath 
of  the  South  wind  that  means  tonic  and  refreshment. 

"If,"  he  said  to  himself,  "Dave's  little  girl  keeps 
straight  on,  as  she  has  gone  thus  far,  I'll  have  to  go 
back  to  mother's  old  paths.  I'd  like  to,  I  believe.  I 
wish  Elizabeth  had  been  started  as  Janet  has.  A 
woman  ought  to  be  a  Christian." 

The  stranger  in  the  pulpit  prayed  that  day,  because 
it  was  his  custom,  for  any  stranger  in  the  pew,  and 
to  two  hearts,  his  petition  was  full  of  inspiration  and 
comfort.  One  was  the  mill  owner's,  the  other,  that 
of  the  little  teacher  from  Springdale,  who  was  sitting 
beside  Nancy  Wiburn.  Pray,  who  was  Nancy 
Wiburn  ?  Had  you  inquired  at  Dene's  Mills,  the 
reply  would  have  been,  "Nobody  knows.  Nancy  is 
a  waif.  Nancy  is  a  puzzle,  an  enigma." 

Nancy  herself,  if  asked,  could  have  told  little.  She 
had  the  peculiarly  isolated  feeling  of  a  child  who  had 
spent  her  earliest  years  in  an  asylum.  In  babyhood, 
she  had  been  brought  to  the  fostering  care  of  an 
orphanage,  and  let  orphanages  be  ever  so  wisely 
managed,  they  are  not  homes.  There  is  too  much 
discipline,  there  is  too  little  individual  nurture. 
When  she  was  seven  years  old,  Nancy  had  been 
legally  adopted  by  Miss  Caroline  Wiburn,  a  spinster 
who  kept  a  boarding-house  for  factory  operatives. 
According  to  her  light,  Miss  Wiburn  had  treated 
Nancy  with  kindness;  food,  shelter,  and  clothes  had 


NANCT    WIBURN  31 

been  provided,  and  during  certain  months  of  the 
year,  schooling  had  been  given,  but  of  love,  of  pet 
ting,  of  caressing,  and  the  little  confidences  which 
make  daily  life  sweet,  the  child  had  known  nothing. 
Dry  bread  had  been  hers,  never  bread  and  honey. 
As  a  little  drudge,  she  had  spent  the  years  between 
seven  and  fourteen,  and  then  came  Miss  Wiburn's 
death.  Nancy  was  old  enough  to  go  into  the  factory, 
and  she  did  so,  supporting  herself  partly,  thus,  and 
partly  by  services  in  housework  in  the  home  of  a 
friend  of  Miss  Wiburn  for  three  years.  She  had 
then  gone  away,  and  had  only  lately  returned. 

As  they  came  out  of  church,  Nancy  extended  her 
hand  to  Janet. 

"I  have  been  wanting  to  see  you  at  the  school," 
she  said.  "  I  am  coming  to-morrow.  This  summer  I 
am  spending  with  Mrs.  Gracy,  as  her  companion, 
and  she  gives  me  some  time  to  myself  for  study. 
Drawing  is  really  what  I  love,  but  I  know  that  I  need 
something  besides  that,  and  I  am  going  to  college  in 
the  fall.  I  think  I  can  work  my  way.  May  I  stop  in 
at  the  school  after  three  o'clock  ?  I  want  to  see  you 
about  my  algebra:  it  is  very  weak." 

The  engagement  was  made,  and  Janet  joined  Mr. 
Evans  and  Elizabeth. 

"I  saw  you  sat  with  Nancy  Wiburn,"  said  the 
latter.  "Why  didn't  you  come  into  our  pew  ?" 

"  I  didn't  know  which  it  was." 

"Well,  you  are  to  sit  there  after  this,"  said  Mr. 
Evans. 

"What  were  you  and  Nancy  talking  about  so 
earnestly,  may  I  ask  ?  " 

"She  is  going  to  college  in  the  fall,  and  wants 


32  JANET  WARD 

some  coaching."  Mr.  Evans  puckered  his  lips  into 
the  form  of  a  whistle. 

"Truly,"  he  said,  "the  social  claims  are  becoming 
mixed.  Nancy  washing  dishes,  Nancy  sweeping  the 
sidewalk,  Nancy  scrubbing  the  floor,  Nancy  at  the 
loom,  I  can  understand,  but  Nancy  Wiburn  at  Lucas 
college  on  an  equal  footing  with  you  and  Elizabeth,  is 
beyond  me.  Why,  she  may  have  been  a  foundling." 

"Possibly,  father,"  said  Elizabeth,  "but  she  was, 
I've  understood,  an  orphan  of  one  of  the  great  floods, 
and  may  have  been  gently  born." 

"At  any  rate  she's  God's  child,"  said  Janet,  put 
ting  her  finger  on  one  great  often  forgotten  truth. 

When  they  came  home  luncheon  was  ready,  but 
Mrs.  Evans  did  not  appear.  She  was  ill. 

"One  of  mamma's  worst  headaches,"  explained 
Elizabeth.  "They  leave  her  limp  for  two  days  after 
she's  had  one,  and  the  pain  is  fiendish  while  they 
last.  No,  there  isn't  anything  one  can  do,  Janet. 
They  are  an  inherited  malady.  Every  Bradford  that 
I  ever  heard  of,  has  those  acute,  tearing,  grinding 
headaches.  You  can  only  let  mother  alone,  till  the 
misery  is  over.  Fortunately  for  me,  I'm  like  my 
father  and  I  don't  have  headaches."  Really,  Eliza 
beth  did  not  seem  to  much  mind  her  mother's 
having  them.  Familiarity  with  the  trouble  had 
blunted  her  pity. 

Janet  was  accustomed  to  ministering  to  her  mother, 
when  exhausting  nervous  pain  racked  her,  and  this 
policy  of  letting  alone,  did  not  commend  itself  as 
wise.  She  was  passing  Mrs.  Evans'  door  when  the 
low  moans  from  the  tortured  sufferer  gave  her  a 
pang,  and  an  excuse  to  stop. 


NANCT    WIBURN  33 

"What  if  it  were  my  mother?"  she  thought. 
"Father  or  Hughie  would  know  what  to  do.  I  can 
at  least  try  to  help  Mrs.  Evans." 

It  was  a  novelty  to  one  who  was  accustomed  to 
let  her  distress  wear  itself  out,  to  find  gentle  but  very 
competent  hands,  smoothing  her  tumbled  bed,  a  hot 
water  bag  placed  at  her  feet,  and  a  mustard  leaf  at 
the  back  of  her  neck.  The  room  was  darkened;  the 
nurse  who  went  back  and  forth,  without  rustling  or 
disturbance  as  if  she  were  a  trained  hospital  attend 
ant,  after  a  little  coaxed  away  the  worst  of  the  pain ; 
and  Mrs.  Evans  slept.  When  she  wakened  it  looked 
as  if  Janet  had  never  gone  away,  for  there  she  was, 
with  a  cup  of  hot  bouillon  and  a  wafer,  and,  though 
she  protested  that  she  could  not  take  a  mouthful,  the 
lady  was  persuaded  to  try  a  spoonful  at  a  time,  till 
the  cup  was  emptied. 

"  Where  did  you  learn  to  take  care  of  an  invalid  ?" 
said  Elizabeth,  the  next  day,  admiringly.  "Father 
and  I  are  both  so  well,  we  haven't  much  compassion, 
and  I  don't  know  the  first  thing  about  nursing.  In 
deed,  I  fly  to  the  farthest  corner  of  the  house  and 
shut  myself  in,  if  anybody  is  suffering.  I  can't 
relieve,  and  I  can't  bear  to  see  one  in  pain.  But  you 
go  right  ahead  and  do  things." 

"I've  had  to,  in  the  manse,  being  the  only  girl." 

"And  is  your  mother  often  ill  ?  " 

"She  isn't  very  strong,  and  we  try  to  save  her  all 
we  can.  Then,  I've  gone  round  with  dad,  and  helped 
nurse  the  congregation." 

"  I  can't  see  where  you  learned  enough  to  get 
ready  for  college,  any  more  than  Nancy  Wiburn  did," 
exclaimed  Elizabeth,  brusquely.  "She's  been  at 


34  JANET:  WARD 

work  all  her  life,  and  I  declare  you  haven't  been  any 
better  off.  When  have  you  had  time?" 

Janet  colored.  "To  tell  the  truth,  Elizabeth,  I 
don't  know  enough  to  teach.  I'm  desperately  afraid 
of  the  bigger  girls.  I  don't  mind  the  boys  half  as 
much,  and  they  are  mostly  little  fellows  like  Ralph 
and  Jack  at  home.  I'm  fearfully  lax  in  keeping 
order,  and  I'm  in  terror  lest  some  of  the  trustees  shall 
come  in  and  discover  how  childish  I  am,  and  how 
incompetent." 

"Then,  pray  why  did  you  begin?"  inquired  Eliza 
beth  naturally.  "Not  that  I  believe  all  you  say." 

"For  a  purely  personal  and  I'm  half  ashamed  to 
confess,  mercenary  reason.  I  cannot  have  the  clothes 
I  want  next  winter,  if  I  do  not  somehow  earn  them, 
and  this  is  the  only  way.  You  see  I  haven't  been 
much  at  school.  Dad  has  taught  me  all  I  know,  and 
prepared  me  for  college.  I  am  prepared,  Elizabeth, 
and  have  passed  everything  without  a  condition, 
thanks  to  dad,  and  I'm  going  in  on  a  scholarship. 
Between  my  earnings  and  Aunt  Katherine's  old 
things,  I'll  be  presentable  among  the  rest." 

This  talk  took  place  on  a  Saturday  afternoon,  as 
the  girls  were  driving.  There  was  an  extra  seat  in 
the  carriage.  As  if  by  a  bit  of  mental  telepathy,  the 
same  thought  occurred  to  both  at  the  same  moment, 
but  Janet  did  not  utter  hers;  Elizabeth  did.  She 
drew  rein,  turned  about,  and  with  an  exclamation  of, 
"Why  not?"  halted  before  old  Mrs.  Gracy's  door. 

"Just  hold  Prince  a  moment,  please,  Janet.  I'm 
going  in  to  ask  if  Mrs.  Gracy  can  spare  Nancy  for  an 
hour.  We  three  girls  are  all  going  to  college  to 
gether.  I'd  like  to  find  out  where  she  prepared.  I 


NANCT    W 1 BURN  35 

am  the  bright  and  shining  product  of  Mrs.  Elmen- 
dorfs  school;  you  are  certainly  aware  that  her  girls 
are  thoroughly  fitted  for  the  entrance  exams,  of  all 
the  best  colleges,  aren't  you,  Janet?" 

Laughing  and  looking  over  her  shoulder,  she  went 
in  and  invited  Nancy  for  a  drive.  Mrs.  Gracy  was 
herself  out  for  the  day  and  Nancy  at  liberty,  and  at 
her  easel.  She  put  it  away,  and  followed  Elizabeth 
to  the  carriage. 

"Now  Nancy  Wiburn,"  she  said,  as  Prince  trotted 
superbly  over  the  levels,  ' '  we  have  come  to  a  good  part 
of  the  road  where  it  isn't  rough  and  stony,  and  Janet 
and  I  want  to  know  who  prepared  you  for  college  ?" 

"  I  have  thus  far,  fought  my  way  on  alone,"  said 
Nancy  composedly.  "Though  I've  had  lifts,  a  lift 
here,  a  helping  hand  there.  Miss  Ward  is  giving  me 
the  latter  now,  and  so  are  you,  Miss  Evans." 

"As  we  are  three  girls  together,  suppose  we  don't 
say  Miss.  I  call  you  Nancy.  You  must  say  Elizabeth 
to  me  and  this  is  Janet." 

"  Plain  Janet,"  confirmed  the  latter,  looking  very 
pretty  indeed  as  she  said  it. 

Nancy  blushed,  a  deep  blush,  that  retreated  and 
left  her  pale.  Her  two  companions  somehow  felt 
uncomfortable,  as  if  they  had  made  a  mistake,  but 
nobody  ever  saw  Elizabeth  embarrassed  very  long  at 
a  time.  She  had  the  assured  position  of  a  great  lady 
at  Dene's  Mills;  she  had  been  a  personage  there  ever 
since  her  babyhood.  So  she  took  Nancy  to  task 
without  hesitation. 

"To  blush  in  that  way,  Nancy,  is  quite  needless. 
Pray  don't.  Why,  I  know  all  about  you  and  how 
brave  and  sweet  and  useful  you've  been  ever  since 


36  JANET:  WARD 

you  were  a  grave  little  creature,  like  a  wee  old-fash 
ioned  woman,  putting  up  with  Miss  Caroline's  queer 
tempers  like  an  angel,  and  wearing  such  funny  frocks 
and  aprons,  and  your  hair  strained  back  like  a  man 
darin  on  a  teacup,  and  you  never  minding  a  bit." 

"Never  minding,"  exclaimed  Nancy,  with  flashing 
eyes.  "I  did  mind.  I  hated,  I  loathed,  I  abhorred 
those  horrid  old  aprons  and  ridiculous  frocks.  1 
ought  to  have  been  grateful,  but  1  was  a  rebel.  A 
silent  one  of  course.  It  began,  my  hating  and  loath 
ing  in  the  asylum,  where  we  were  dressed  precisely 
alike,  a  most  unkind  thing  for  kind  people  to  do,  so 
that  our  very  uniform  shouted  charity  children  at 
every  one  we  met.  I  never  loved  Miss  Caroline,  for 
though  she  did  not  mean  to,  she  always  kept  re 
minding  me  that  I  was  not  like  other  children,  '  you 
poor  little  stray  kitten,'  wasjier  favorite  pet  name  for 
me.  Once  I  nearly  broke  her  heart  by  putting  one 
of  my  aprons  in  the  kitchen  stove.  I  went  supper- 
less  to  bed,  but  I  didn't  care." 

Janet's  face  was  full  of  pity.  She  recalled  her  own 
happy  days  in  the  manse,  so  loved,  so  guarded,  so 
understood.  Why  had  she  not  been  an  even  better 
daughter?  One's  mercies  sometimes  rise  up  and 
challenge  us,  filling  us  with  compunction  at  the  base 
way  we  take  them  for  granted. 

"Children  should  be  studied  more  than  they  are," 
she  said,  trying  to  change  the  subject  and  make  it 
less  personal,  as  she  had  often  seen  her  tactful 
mother  do;  "I  intend  to  govern  my  school  here  at 
the  Mills,  wholly  by  love  and  sympathy." 

Elizabeth  laughed.  "When  the  children  ride  over 
you,  Janet,  send  for  me,  and  I'll  come  in  with  a  stick. 


NANCT    W 1 BURN  37 

That's  what  these  children  are  used  to,  a  word  and  a 
blow,  poor  things." 

"Love  can  be  stern,"  replied  Janet  with  a  glint  in 
her  eyes  that  showed  she  did  not  mean  to  be  over 
ridden,  and  Elizabeth  laughed  again.  Her  mirth  was 
infectious.  Not  one  of  the  three  was  yet  too  old  to 
giggle  at  nothing,  for  the  pure  pleasure  of  being 
alive.  This  is  one  of  girlhood's  monopolies. 

"Did  you  ever  burn  another  apron,  Nan?"  asked 
Elizabeth. 

"  Not  I.  I  soon  ceased  being  so  silly  and  wasteful. 
Miss  Caroline  died,  then  I  hadn't  much  time  to  think 
about  myself.  And  when  I  first  went  to  the  dear 
little  school,  where  you  are  teaching  now,  Miss  Janet, 
a  new  joy  came  to  me,  the  joy  of  books,  of  learning, 
of  discovery.  I  grew  too  happy  over  my  books  to 
mind  outside  things.  I  was  easily  at  the  top  of  my 
class  always.  It  was  no  trouble  for  me  to  learn,  no 
trouble  at  all,  Miss  Elizabeth." 

"Nancy,"  Elizabeth's  tone  was  decided,  and  she 
stopped  Prince  that  he  might  rest  before  beginning 
to  climb  a  very  steep  hill.  "Explain  to  me  why  you 
are  so  sensitive  just  now.  You  have  never  done 
anything  disgraceful.  Poverty  is  no  disgrace.  Don't 
be  absurd,  child.  Should  you  stand  off  primly  and 
refuse  us  sisterhood  when  we  ask  it?" 

"  Because,"  said  Nancy,  looking  her  questioner 
squarely  in  the  eyes,  "because  I  am  nothing  and  no 
body.  I  have  a  right  to  be  called  Nancy  Wiburn,  I 
suppose,  since  Miss  Caroline  gave  me  her  surname. 
On  the  asylum  register  I  was  Nancy  Nameless.  It's 
terrible.  The  iron  of  my  lack  of  kindred  and  of 
background  is  a  ceaseless  brand  in  my  soul." 


38  JANET  WARD 

"Well,  then,  you  would  better  stop  being  morbid 
over  it,  my  dear,  and  let  the  branding  business  end 
right  here  before  you  go  up  to  college  with  us.  It's 
this  way,  Nancy.  When  the  flood  swept  away 
every  house  in  your  village  in  an  hour,  children  were 
left  orphaned,  children  of  birth  as  go,od  as  ours:  you 
have  no  right  whatever  to  reflect  on  your  parents, 
by  a  thought  that  they  were  not  good  people,  that 
you  are  not  the  daughter  of  a  pure  clean  home.  On 
my  word,  Nancy,  I'm  ashamed  of  you  for  harboring 
such  a  suspicion.  Don't  think  of  yourself  as  no 
body's  child  any  longer.  You  are  probably  some 
body's  child,  a  somebody  who  liked  books  and  pic 
tures  and  all  refined  things.  Why,  I'm  not  a  Chris 
tian  as  Janet  is,  but  if  I  were,  I'd  say  you  were 
reflecting  on  God  Himself." 

"You'll  find  out  God's  meaning  for  you  in  God's 
time,"  said  Janet,  tenderly,  "so  Nancy,  take  Eliza 
beth's  advice,  and  don't  brood.  I  think  she's  right. 
One  must  accept  God's  will,  whatever  it  is,  accept 
it  as  the  only  thing,  and  the  very,  very  best  thing 
there  is,  otherwise  one  never  has  any  repose." 

"I  will  try,  Elizabeth  and  Janet,"  answered  Nancy, 
and  then  and  there  began  the  friendship  of  the  three 
girls,  a  triply  welded  band  which  lasted  all  their  days. 
As  they  plodded  over  the  mountain  road  between  the 
sweet  spicy  forests,  where  squirrels  darted  and  some 
times  a  bird  sang,  Nancy  told  them  the  story  of  her 
three  years  in  Boston. 

As  Janet  listened,  there  came  to  her  a  little  poem 
of  Robert  Louis  Stevenson,  that  might  have  been 
written  for  Nancy;  then  and  ever  after  she  associated 
the  stanzas  with  her. 


NANCT    W 1 BURN  39 

"  Trusty,  dusky,  vivid,  true 
With  eyes  of  gold  and  bramble-dew, 
Steel-true  and  blade-straight 
The  great  artificer  made  my  mate. 

"  Honor,  anger,  valor,  fire, 
A  love  that  life  could  never  tire, 
Death  quench,  or  evil  stir, 
The  mighty  master  gave  to  her." 

"It  came  over  me  one  day  when  I  was  seventeen," 
said  Nancy,  "that  I  might  keep  on  in  the  factory, 
pulling  threads  out  one  by  one  and  laying  them  side 
by  side  all  day  long,  that  I  might  keep  on  doing  that 
till  I  was  a  gray  bent  old  woman  and  nothing  could 
ever  come  of  it.  Nothing  more.  I  made  good  wages, 
and  the  work  was  not  hard,  but  it  was  the  monotony 
of  it,  no  change,  no  hope.  That  I  couldn't  bear. 
And  the  girls  were  not  like  me,  book-hungry.  They 
laughed  and  chatted  and  walked  with  the  boys  in 
the  evenings  and  had  their  mothers  and  homes  and 
the  little  sisters  and  brothers.  I  had  nobody.  I  had 
saved  a  little,  so  I  went  to  town  to  try  my  luck. 
First  I  tried  to  find  employment  in  a  shop,  but  I  was 
a  stranger  and  could  not  get  in.  As  my  little  money 
dwindled  away,  I  made  up  my  mind  to  take  the  only 
work  one  can  get  without  any  difficulty,  and  I  went 
to  an  Intelligence  office,  and  applied  for  a  place  as 
second,  maid.  For  you  see,  I  knew  how  to  do 
housework,  and  I  am  glad  I  did,  and  do.  I  am  ex 
pecting  to  do  it,  most  of  the  time  I  am  in  college. 

"Well,  I  took  the  first  opening,  and  it  was  in  a 
surburban  town  near  Boston.  Most  of  the  women 
who  were  looking  for  situations  refused  to  go  to  the 
surburbs:  they  wanted  to  be  near  their  own  people. 


40  JANET  WARD 

As  I  was  by  myself,  and  had  been  brought  up  in  a 
country  village,  I  liked  it  much  better  than  the  town. 
My  employer  was  a  young  married  lady  who  be 
longed  to  a  pleasant  set  of  people.  She  didn't  know 
a  great  deal  about  housekeeping,  and  had  to  depend 
on  Bridget  and  me.  We  had  more  to  do  than  would 
have  happened,  if  she  had  known  how  hard  or  how 
easy  work  was,  or  if  she  had  not  been  bound  by  a 
system  which  was  inflexible,  because  she  knew  no 
way  of  modifying  it.  The  result  was  that  Bridget 
came  and  went:  there  was  misunderstanding  be 
tween  the  kitchen  and  parlor  from  week's  end  to 
week's  end,  but  I  stayed  on,  and  gradually  became  a 
sort  of  housekeeper,  doing  most  of  the  work  and  all 
of  the  cooking  in  my  own  way,  with  a  laundress 
coming  for  the  washing  and  ironing.  So  two  years 
passed,  and  I  managed  to  get  on  very  well  with  my 
books,  using  every  spare  moment  to  study,  till  one 
day  when  Mrs.  Allison's  Wednesday  Club  was  meet 
ing  at  our  house,  her  cousin  Sophy  happened  to  come 
out  to  the  kitchen  and  found  me  watching  the  oven, 
with  a  Greek  grammar  on  my  lap.  She  asked  a  few 
questions,  and  a  day  or  two  afterwards,  Mrs.  Allison 
herself  told  me  that  she  and  Miss  Sophy  wanted  me 
to  have  more  time  and  more  help  for  my  books, 
since  I  was  set  on  having  a  good  education." 

"Isn't  that  Boston  for  you?"  said  Elizabeth. 
"Go  on,  Nancy.  This  is  interesting." 

"So  another  Bridget  was  sent  for  and  installed, 
and  I  was  given  lighter  work,  and  Miss  Sophy  and 
her  Uncle  Theodore,  who  was  a  professor,  had  me 
come  to  them  at  regular  hours  for  the  next  year. 
And  that's  how  I  was  made  ready  for  the  next  step." 


NANCT    W 1 BURN  41 

"But  Nancy,  you  spend  a  good  deal  of  time  on 
drawing  and  designing.  Why  do  you  not  devote 
your  whole  energy  to  that  ?  I  hear  you  have 
extraordinary  talent.  People  say  so." 

"Well,  Miss  Elizabeth,"  and  Nancy  Wiburn 
hesitated  for  a  word,  "I  mean  to  be  an  artist,  if  I 
live  and  if  I  can,  but  I  want  to  be  a  broad-minded 
woman  too,  as  well,  and  I  think  I  may  accomplish 
both  ends  if  I  persevere." 

That  night  as  Elizabeth  and  Janet  were  talking  over 
the  day  on  the  moonlit  veranda,  a  neighbor  or  two 
happened  in.  Summer  in  the  country  invites  to 
neighborly  meetings,  without  set  purposes.  One  of 
the  friends  was  the  doctor  of  Dene's  Mills,  another 
the  manager  of  the  thread  factory,  and  a  third  was  a 
young  kinsman  of  Mr.  Evans  who  was  spending  his 
vacation  among  the  mountains,  making  his  home 
with  a  certain  Great-aunt  Sarah  Ritchie.  Tom 
Evans  was  a  senior  at  Amherst,  and  had  not  yet  de 
cided  on  his  profession.  Mr.  Evans  offered  him  a 
position  in  business,  his  father  urged  him  to  study 
law,  and  he  was  at  a  standstill,  having  arrived  as  yet 
at  no  decision.  At  that  moment  his  most  serious 
avocation  in  life  was  fishing. 

"By  the  way,  Elizabeth,"  he  announced,  "Aunt 
Sarah  was  rather  vexed  with  you  to-day." 

"  I  have  not  seen  Aunt  Sarah  for  three  days." 

"That  may  be,  but  she  has  seen  you.  Your 
present  offense  is  the  company  you  keep." 

"Surely  auntie  does  not  disapprove  of  Janet. 
Why,  she  has  asked  her  to  supper,  a  mark  of 
peculiar  favor." 

"Not  Miss  Janet  of  course.     But  you  were  seen 


42  JANET  WARD 

driving  with  another  young  woman,  Nancy  Lee, 
Nancy  Wiburn  that  is,  and  Aunt  Sarah  felt  that  you 
must  be  cautioned,  so  prepare  for  a  visit  to-morrow." 

"If  aunt  knew  Nancy — knew  how  brave  and 
aspiring  she  is,  her  opinion  of  her  would  be  changed, 
but  auntie  belongs  to  the  ultra  conservatives  and  she 
cannot  understand.  Well,  poor  Nancy  has  not  often 
time  for  outings." 

"You  are  quite  right,  Elizabeth,"  said  Doctor 
Page.  "  Nancy  is  not  an  ordinary  girl.  I  have  had 
an  illustration  of  that  within  the  hour.  I  was  called 
to  see  a  little  patient  to-night  at  the  collieries — the 
cluster  of  cabins,  Miss  Janet,  near  the  street  that  leads 
to  the  coal  breaker.  The  boy  had  been  badly 
scalded:  his  mother  is  a  feeble,  slatternly  creature 
who  neglects  her  children  and  reads  novels — a  very 
trying  wife  for  a  poor  man  to  have,  let  me  tell  you. 
It  was  owing  to  her  negligence  that  the  child  tipped 
over  the  kettle  on  his  poor  little  feet.  I  hope  he  isn't 
crippled  for  life.  The  father  came  home,  and  was  at 
once  broken-hearted  over  his  boy  and  madly  angry 
with  the  boy's  mother.  He  railed  at  her  with  a 
vehemence  of  profanity  such  as  I  never  heard  and 
would  have  knocked  her  down  if  I  had  not  been 
there.  She  cowered  away  in  her  fright,  like  a  rabbit 
in  a  trap.  I  do  suppose  he  beats  her,  she's  provo 
king  enough;  between  his  rage  and  her  fright  I  could 
get  no  assistance,  and  I  needed  a  nurse.  We've  got 
to  have  a  hospital  here,  before  another  year,  got  to 
have  it,  you  gentlemen  take  notice.  It's  a  humane 
necessity,  accidents  are  forever  occurring.  Well 
there  was  a  sudden  lull,  and  it  was  caused  by  the 
quiet  coming  in  of  whom  do  you  suppose  ?  Nancy. 


NANCT    WIEURN  43 

She  appeared  as  if  she  had  fallen  from  the  skies. 
She  was  cool,  ready,  supplied  with  all  that  was 
needed.  'Hush,  John,  for  shame!'  she  cried,  and 
the  big  blundering  fool  of  a  madman  did  hush. 
'Mary,  stop  crying,  and  come  help  the  doctor,' 
and  Mary  obeyed.  Nancy  dominated  the  situation, 
and  I  left  her  sitting  by  the  little  fellow  and  she  said 
she  would  stay  the  night." 

"Could  Mrs.  Gracy  spare  her?" 

"I  called  by  at  Mrs.  Gracy's  and  told  her  where 
Nancy  was.  'I  sent  her/  said  she.  'I  heard  there 
had  been  an  accident,  and  Nancy  is  nearly  as  good 
as  a  doctor.' " 

Mrs.  Evans  here  spoke:  "Why,  pray,  does  not 
Nancy  go  to  the  hospital  school  and  become  a 
nurse  ?  I  think  she  ought  to." 

"Too  big  for  that,  madam,"  the  doctor  said. 
"She's  going  to  be  a  famous  woman,  one  of  these 
days  or  I  am  a  false  prophet." 

"Little  Nancy!  Well,  it  may  be,  but  I'm  like 
Aunt  Sarah,  I  can't  accommodate  myself  to  these 
developments  all  at  once,  especially  when  we  can 
never  be  sure  who  the  people  were." 

"It  doesn't  matter  much,  I  think,"  said  the  doctor. 
"I  know  a  lot  of  very  wretched  low-down  char 
acters,  whose  family  connections  are  aristocratic. 
We  must  not  be  narrow,  dear  Mrs.  Evans." 

Now  and  then  Janet  had  an  attack  of  homesick 
ness.  Unaccountably  one  longed  to  creep  in  and  sit 
at  her  father's  feet,  to  help  her  mother  with  the  boys' 
mending.  Suddenly  it  occurred  to  her  that  she  was 
holding  herself  away  from  the  home  folks  longer 
than  she  needed.  The  Evans  would  not  let  her  pay 


44  JANET: 

her  board,  so  there  would  be  no  extravagance  in 
going  home  for  the  Fourth  of  July. 

"But  Janet,  I'm  to  have  a  house  party,"  pleaded 
Elizabeth,  "and  I  am  anxious  to  have  my  friends 
meet  you." 

"It  would  be  beautiful,  dearest,  but  just  think!  I 
can  take  Friday  afternoon's  train,  and  slip  in  to  the 
manse  at  tea  time,  and  surprise  dad  and  mother.  I 
can  have  Saturday,  Sunday,  and  Monday  at  home, 
and  if  Nancy  will  take  morning  school  for  me,  that 
is  if  Mrs.  Gracy  will  let  her,  I  needn't  get  back  until 
Tuesday  noon." 

"Don't  worry  about  your  substitute,  little  girl.  If 
Nancy  doesn't  take  your  place,  I  will." 

And  so  Janet  went  home. 


CHANGES 

IT  was  well  that  she  could  go,  for  important 
changes  were  impending  and,  if  she  ,veie  lone 
some,  she  was  not  the  only  one  to  feel  so. 
The  little  circle  in  the  manse  was  quite  forlorn 
without  Janet,  and  father  and  mother  felt  bereft 
and  a  little  dreary.  Mr.  Ward's  rusty  top  buggy  and 
fat  old  pony  were  oftener  on  the  road  than  ever,  and 
he  stayed  less  in  his  study,  his  wife  taking  Janet's  place 
beside  him  as  he  visited  outlying  parishioners.  Prod 
ded  by  the  deacons,  Mr.  Leland  and  others  equally 
officious,  Mr.  Ward  attempted  to  preach  sermons  that 
would  please  the  young  people,  with  the  natural 
result  that  they  pleased  nobody.  For  it  is  given  to 
no  David  in  this  world  to  wear  the  armor  of  any 
Saul,  and  a  man  must  do  his  work  in  his  own  way  if 
it  is  to  be  effective  work.  The  little  church  on  Sab 
bath  morning  showed  many  empty  pews,  for  the 
younger  members  were  growing  indifferent  and  the 
older  ones  half-hearted.  A  wave  of  Sabbath-break 
ing  had  swept  over  the  land,  and  on  summer  Sunday 
mornings,  an  army  of  bicyclers,  or  a  troop  of  merry 
people  with  golf  sticks  in  their  hands  passed  the  old 
sanctuary,  on  their  way  to  a  day's  outdoor  sport.  By 
little  gradations,  Mr.  Ward's  church  was  yielding  to 
the  influence  of  this  example  from  the  world  and  he 
felt  himself  unable  to  cope  with  the  new  conditions. 

45 


46  JANET  WARD 

"They  need  a  new  voice.  They  need  a  younger 
man,"  he  said  to  his  wife  one  day  as  they  jogged 
over  the  steep  road,  skirting  a  strip  of  forest,  where 
the  shadows  lay  thick.  Far  above  them  a  thrush 
sang  with  a  clear  silver  note.  Mrs.  Ward  ever  after 
wards  associated  that  song  of  the  thrush  with  an 
hour,  the  pain  of  which  was  oddly  mingled  with 
a  thrill  of  pleasure. 

"  If  we  go  from  here,  dear,"  she  said,  "  we  shall  go 
like  Abram  of  old,  not  knowing  whither." 

"As  yet  I  do  not  hear  God  telling  me  whereto 
go,"  he  answered.  "I  see  but  a  single  step  ahead 
and  that  is  to  resign  this  pastorate." 

"Should  you  not  think  of  Janet  and  the  boys?" 
said  the  wife.  "We  have  a  roof  over  us  here.  And 
we've  nothing  to  depend  on — no  savings.  What 
should  we  do?" 

"That  part  wrings  my  heart;" — he  turned  a  pale 
set  face  towards  her.  "  I  never  meant  when  we  were 
married  to  bring  you  into  a  life  of  such  hardship  as 
you  have  had  and  must  yet  have,  sharing  the  fortunes 
of  an  unsuccessful  man.  I  am  afraid  I  am  a  failure." 

"Never  say  that,  dear  husband.  Think  of  the 
good  you  have  done.  The  sorrowful  you  have  com 
forted,  the  sick  you  have  ministered  to.  Your  work 
has  been  well  done.  And  you  have  had  a  great  deal 
to  bear  too,  especially  lately  since  the  people  have 
grown  exacting,  and  at  the  same  time  have  acted  as 
if  we  were  their  beneficiaries.  I  have  been  relieved 
that  Janet  has  been  out  of  it  these  last  weeks,  for  she 
is  vehement  and  apt  to  speak  too  freely,  poor  child." 

"  My  darling,  you  are  always  a  help  to  me.  Well, 
we  are  united  on  the  question  of  leaving  here,  and  I 


CHANGES  47 

would  rather  walk  with  God  in  the  dark  than  walk 
alone  in  the  light." 

"So  would  I." 

When  they  reached  home,  a  note  from  Janet 
awaited  them.  She  was  coming  the  next  day.  The 
parents  were  glad  to  take  her  into  their  counsel. 
Meanwhile  Mr.  Ward  wrote  to  the  secretary  of  the 
Board  of  Home  Missions,  offering  himself  for  any 
post  of  service  on  the  frontier.  Hardly  had  his  letter 
gone,  when  one  arrived  from  an  old  friend  in  the 
mountains  of  Tennessee.  In  fact  it  had  been  written 
and  was  on  its  way  when  the  Wards  had  their  taik 
upon  the  forest  road. 

"Dear  Dave,"  wrote  this  friend,  "I  am  afraid  that 
you  will  have  to  search  a  long  way  back  in  memory 
to  find  Ralph  Huntoon,  but  when  you  do  recall  old 
college  days,  I  hope  he  is  not  quite  forgotten.  You 
would  not  know  the  old  Ralph  should  you  meet 
him  now.  Fancy  a  fellow  with  shaggy,  untrimmed 
beard,  and  baggy  trousers  and  coat  of  faded  butter 
nut  brown,  riding  across  country  on  a  big  roan  horse 
that  can  find  his  way  anywhere  in  the  dark,  and  is 
used  to  going  wherever  there  is  fever  or  accident  or 
any  untoward  thing,  as  a  doctor's  horse  should. 
With  all  my  burning  ambitions,  I  am  just  a  country 
doctor,  old  fellow.  I  had  more  than  one  chance  to 
work  in  the  cities,  and  to  make  a  name  as  a  surgeon, 
but  I  never  could  get  settled  in  a  town.  The  moun 
tains  kept  calling  me  back.  So  here  I  am  at  forty- 
eight  in  old  Tennessee,  hardworking  and  poor,  but 
very  happy  and  with  some  beautiful  cases  that  are 
worth  a  man's  effort  and  skill.  I  thank  God  I've 
done  some  good  here,  and  now,  this  is  what  else 


48  JANE?  WARD 

I'm  impelled  to  do.  I  don't  know  that  there's  the 
ghost  of  a  hope.  The  thing  on  the  face  of  it  looks 
preposterous,  absurd,  and  you  may  chuck  my  letter 
into  the  waste-basket,  though  I  know  you'll  answer 
it  first  for  old  times'  sake. 

"We  have  a  queer  population  here  in  this  out  of 
the  world  place.  Men  and  women  silent  as  the  hills 
around  them.  Often  illiterate  but  seldom  unintelli 
gent.  Loyal,  prejudiced,  narrow,  sensitive,  and  sus 
picious  of  strangers,  they  are  a  mass  of  contradictions, 
these  mountain  folk,  but  I,  who  belong  to  the  stock, 
understand  and  love  them.  We  have  need  here  of 
the  school  and  the  church,  perhaps  I  should  put  the 
second  first,  but  my  idea  has  been  that  the  two  must 
go  hand  in  hand.  We  need  a  missionary,  and  a 
teacher;  the  two  should  be  combined  in  one  person. 
Though  poverty  presses,  there  is  a  bit  of  land  around 
an  old  manse,  and  there  is  a  schoolhouse  that  will 
make  a  good  church  on  Sundays,  and  what  we  need 
is  a  preacher.  David,  won't  you  take  the  job  ?  I  can 
see  how  much  I'm  asking.  But  you  have  sons  who 
can  grow  up  with  the  country.  When  the  railroad  is 
cut  through,  prosperity  is  coming  our  way.  Mean 
while  there  isn't  the  Hindu  or  the  New  Zealander  or 
the  fetish  worshipping  African  who  needs  Christ 
more  than  my  people  here  in  the  mountains.  I  don't 
want  a  boy  fresh  from  the  seminary.  I  don't  want 
a  man  who  has  known  no  suffering.  I  want  you, 
my  old  classmate. 

"Now,  you'll  laugh  at  me.  But  I've  been  praying 
over  this  matter  as  Cornelius  prayed  before  the  Lord 
sent  him  Peter.  I've  prayed  before  I  laid  my  head  on 
my  saddle  to  snatch  a  little  sleep  on  the  mud  floor  of 


CHANGES  49 

a  hut,  where  on  the  cot  beside  me  lay  a  miner  with  a 
broken  leg  and  a  touch  of  fever.  I've  prayed  in  my 
lonely  house.  You  don't  know  it,  but  I  lost  my  wife 
five  years  ago,  and  we  had  no  children.  I  know  God 
answers  prayer.  And  this  happened.  I  woke  up  in 
the  middle  of  the  night  and  in  my  first  half  conscious 
glance,  I  saw  standing  in  the  moonbeams  by  the 
window,  a  beautiful  shining  angel.  Some  fantastic 
tracery  of  leaf  and  bough,  some  wavering  of  the 
breeze  against  the  pane,  no  doubt,  but  to  me,  half 
sleeping,  half  waking,  an  angel.  The  form  melted 
and  lost  itself  in  the  moonbeams  as  I  gazed,  but  as 
plainly  as  if  a  voice  had  spoken  audibly,  I  heasd  these 
words:  'Send  for  David  Ward!  Send  for  David 
Ward!'  So  I'm  sending.  I'm  making  out  your  call, 
Dave.  You  won't  starve,  and  you  won't  freeze,  and 
you'll  do  good.  Turn  over  that  parish  North  to 
some  younger  hand,  pick  up  your  wife  and  children, 
and  come  to  us,  and  the  Lord  bless  you!  Come, 
man,  to  the  church.  On  second  thoughts,  I'll  not 
ask  you  to  take  up  school-keeping  for  there  won't  be 
time.  I'll  be  counting  the  days  until  I  hear  from  you." 

In  the  den,  the  minister  dropped  on  his  knees  and 
thanked  God.  Then  he  read  the  letter  to  his  wife. 
And  she  read  it  in  turn  a  little  later  to  Janet  whose 
eyes  shone  with  gladness. 

"Are  you  willing?"  said  the  minister  to  his  help 
mate,  and  she  answered,  "Where  thou  goest,  I  will 
go,"  and  thus  they  turned  and  closed  one  long  page 
of  their  lives  and  began  another. 

There  were  not  wanting  tears  when  they  said 
good-bye.  Transplanting  trees  that  have  struck  deep 
roots  is  never  easy  work,  and  the  turned  up  sod 


50  JANEr  WARD 

shows  a  scar  for  a  while.  But  they  went  southward 
hopefully.  It  was  rather  a  comfort  that  the  people 
wept  to  part  with  them;  even  Mr.  Leland  lamented. 

Nobody  was  more  interested  in  the  change  of  base 
than  Mr.  Evans,  whose  thoughtfulness  made  the  long 
journey  both  luxurious  and  inexpensive,  and  who 
promised  to  stand  valiantly  back  of  Mr.  Ward  in 
the  new  field. 

"  It  looks  as  if  I  ought  to  resign  my  thoughts  of 
college,"  said  Janet.  "You  will  need  me,  dearest 
mother,  in  settling  down  in  a  new  place."  This  was 
when  they  talked  it  over  before  the  start.  Somehow 
the  mere  thought  of  the  radical  departure  had  stirred 
some  new  spring  of  vitality  in  the  little  mother. 
She  was  stronger  and  more  enthusiastic  than  she  had 
been  for  years. 

"Not  at  all,"  she  had  said,  firmly.  "I'll  manage 
with  your  father  and  the  boys.  And  you  shall  go  to 
college  from  Mr.  Evans's  home  with  Elizabeth  and 
your  other  friend.  The  only  regret  I  feel  is  that  so 
long  a  time  must  elapse  before  you  see  the  new 
home.  But  we  must  both  be  brave,  Janet.  I  can  see 
that  this  is  the  best  thing  for  your  father.  When  I 
realized  that  his  heart  was  slowly  breaking,  and  that 
he  was  becoming  atrophied  in  this  field,  I  felt  that  we 
must  go  somewhere.  Why,  my  love,  1  had  even  con 
templated  scattering  the  boys  about  among  the  kin 
dred  and  going  to  Aunt  Jessany's  myself,  and  leaving 
him  free  to  wander  off  alone.  Isn't  this  far,  far 
better?  God's  hand  is  in  it,  dear." 

"You're  going  to  a  lonesome  neighborhood, 
little  mother." 

"Oh!    what  of  it?    No  house  can  be  lonesome 


CHANGES  51 

where  your  father  is  and  the  boys  are  making  merry," 
and  so  the  little  woman  rose  above  the  suggestion  of 
despondency  and  was  like  a  girl  again. 

It  would  be  nearly  impossible  to  trace  by  any  proc 
ess  that  was  at  all  superficial  the  steps  that  had  led 
Dr.  Huntoon  to  recall  Mr.  Ward.  For  years  the  two 
had  been  widely  separated.  But  a  few  months  be 
fore  this  letter  was  written  the  Doctor  had  been  look 
ing  over  some  old  text-books,  and  had  come  upon  a 
carte  de  visite  of  David  Ward,  hidden  in  a  volume  of 
medical  lectures.  Then  he  tried  to  piece  together 
such  fragmentary  knowledge  as  he  had  had  of  him 
since,  and  finally  he  had  written  to  a  relative  in 
New  York,  asking  for  his  address.  Borne  in  upon 
him  from  the  outside,  the  impression  had  deepened 
that  Ward  was  the  man  to  take  up  a  hard  yet  inter 
esting  field,  with  little  promise  of  earthly  reward,  but 
a  big  prospect  of  harvest  heavenward.  Then  came 
his  visitation  from  the  angel  in  the  waking  dream, 
and  the  letter  of  urgent  invitation. 

"Thank  the  dear  Lord  when  you  say  farewell  to 
Uncle  Pumblechook,"  wrote  Janet,  and  her  father 
laughed. 

"I  fancy  there  are  Pumblechooks  enough  in  most 
places,  to  keep  God's  ministers  humble  and  lowly  in 
their  minds." 

"Well,  maybe  so,"  said  Mrs.  Ward,  "but  they 
won't  crop  up  during  the  first  year.  The  first  year  is 
always  a  breaking-spell,  and  the  novelty  doesn't  quite 
wear  off  during  the  second.  But  there — a  home 
mission  work  must  be  altogether  different  from  such 
work  as  we  have  in  our  congregations  in  older 
places.  We'll  look  for  nothing  but  joy." 


52  JANET:  WARD 

Janet  threw  herself  into  her  teaching  with  greater 
ardor  than  ever  as  she  approached  the  end  of  the 
term.  She  would  have  two  hundred  dollars  in  hand 
when  the  work  was  done,  for  board  had  cost  her 
nothing,  and  between  Mrs.  Evans  and  her  aunt  who 
had  returned  from  abroad,  she  was  fitted  out  with  a 
most  comfortable  wardrobe.  In  vain  she  rebelled. 
Mrs.  Evans  pleased  herself  in  the  matter  declaring 
that  Janet  had  really  earned  all  she  received  by  her 
company  in  the  house,  and  the  good  she  had  done 
Elizabeth.  So  Janet  went  to  college  feeling  rich. 

On  the  day  her  school  closed,  there  were  exercises 
to  which  parents  and  friends  were  asked;  the  schol 
ars  sang  and  recited,  and  the  minister  came  in  and 
gave  out  prizes  and  certificates  of  merit.  One  old 
farmer,  not  on  the  programme,  rose  and  asked  per 
mission  to  say  a  word  at  the  close.  He  had  been  an 
admiring  observer  of  the  entertainment. 

"I've  always  had  the  notion,"  he  said,  "that  it 
needed  a  young  man  to  tackle  this  school  in  the 
winter,  but  if  Miss  Ward'll  stay,  I'd  give  her  my 
vote.  She's  kep'  the  smoothest  summer  school  we've 
ever  had  in  these  parts,  and  I  don't  see  the  sense  of 
her  givin'  it  up." 

The  compliment  was  so  sincere  and  spontaneous 
that  Janet  appreciated  it.  She  went  to  the  good  man, 
took  his  hard  hand,  and  told  him  she  needed  more 
schooling  herself. 

"  Well,  well,"  he  said,  "p'raps  you're  right,  p'raps 
so.  You're  only  a  slip  of  a  girl,  and  the  big  boys 
might  be  more  than  you  could  handle.  But  I  feel  as 
if  you'd  do." 

Nancy's  modest  little  trunk  contained  only  must- 


CHANGES  53 

haves  when  she  went  away  finally  in  the  same  train 
with  Janet  and  Elizabeth.  She  had  arranged  to  pay 
for  her  tuition  by  work  in  the  domestic  department 
of  Lucas  College,  and  so  her  year  loomed  before  her 
formidably,  but  everything  Nancy  had  gained  in  her 
life,  she  had  acquired  by  her  own  hands,  and  she  was 
undaunted. 

Mrs.  Evans  took  her  daughter  aside  the  night  be 
fore  they  left  home. 

"I  wish  you  to  be  kind  to  Nancy,  my  dear,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  but  I  would  prefer  your  avoiding 
intimacy.  A  good  deal  depends  on  the  associates 
you  make  from  the  first,  and  I  cannot  feel  that  you 
and  Nancy  are  socially  on  the  same  plane." 

Elizabeth  shrugged  her  shoulders.  A  stubborn 
look  which  was  characteristic  came  over  her  face. 
Her  mother  shook  her  head. 

"Now,  my  daughter,  I  am  not  asking  a  pledge.  1 
am  merely  stating  a  preference.  As  it  looks  to  me 
you  might  as  well  make  a  friend  of  Bridget  or  Kat 
rine  in  the  kitchen,  as  of  Nancy.  Your  paths  in  life 
will  lie  apart.  All  I  wish  is  that  you  shall  be  amiable 
and  kind  but  not  admit  her  to  your  intimacy.  Do  be 
reasonable  to  satisfy  me." 

"Mother,"  said  Elizabeth,  "this  advice  is  given 
from  your  standpoint,  but  I've  been  learning  to  view 
things  latterly  from  another.  Janet  does  not  see 
them  as  you  do.  Why  should  I  not  be  friends  with 
Katrine  and  Bridget,  at  least  to  some  extent,  so  far  as 
we  meet  on  common  ground  ?  Why  should  I  ex 
clude  Nancy  from  my  love  ?  Not  that  she  shows  the 
least  disposition  to  force  hers  on  me.  The  day  is 
coming,  mother,  when  you  and  I  may  be  proud  to  be 


54  JANE?  WARD 

admitted  to  Nancy's  circle,  to  say  that  we  knew  her 
in  childhood.  Janet  and  I  will  probably  do  our  duty 
in  the  station  to  which  it  has  pleased  God  to  call  us, 
but  Nancy  Wiburn  will  be  great." 

The  mother  said  no  more.  But  she  was  uncon 
vinced.  She  could  not  overcome  patrician  traditions, 
and  it  hurt  her  to  note  that  Elizabeth  was  becoming 
increasingly  democratic. 

"I  wish  I  had  vetoed  this  whole  thing  and  taken 
her  to  Europe,"  she  said  to  her  husband.  "I  dislike 
these  leveling  notions.  They  are  well  enough  for 
poor  girls,  but  Elizabeth  with  her  beauty  and  distinc 
tion  and  wealth,  should  be  like  a  young  princess. 
Mark  my  words,  Horace,  our  daughter  will  go  into 
settlement  work  yet.  I  can  see  where  this  drifting 
will  land  her,  and  I  recoil  from  it.  She  won't  fulfill 
my  ideal." 

"Will  it  not  be  better  if  she  fulfill  a  noble  one 
of  her  own?"  said  the  broader-minded  father. 
"Don't  worry,  my  dear.  When  we  reach  a  certain 
critical  point,  we  parents  have  to  stand  aside,  and 
let  our  children  work  out  their  own  salvation.  If 
the  larger  claim,  as  Jane  Addams  phrases  it,  come  to 
our  daughter,  we  cannot  interfere.  Meanwhile  she 
will  meet  a  few  hundreds  of  young  girls  at  college, 
from  all  sorts  of  ranks  and  conditions,  and  she'll 
probably  find  new  friends  among  some  of  them. 
And  Nancy  Wiburn  will  be  too  busy  for  much  recre 
ation.  I'm  not  sure  how  my  girl  will  come  through 
the  college  ordeal,  but  I  know  Nancy  will  cover  her 
self  with  glory!" 

"What  you  all  see  in  her,  puzzles  me,"  said  the 
lady,  and  the  question  dropped.  Mrs.  Evans  was  a 


CHANGES  55 

shining  specimen  of  the  domestic  woman,  accus 
tomed  to  ease  and  hemmed  in  by  use  and  wont.  It 
was  inevitable  that  she  and  her  daughter  should  clash, 
and  fail  to  understand  one  another.  Mr.  L-vans  com 
prehended  Elizabeth  far  better  than  her  mother  did, 
but  he  had  the  man's  invariable  attitude  towards 
household  friction,  which  was  never  agreeable  to 
him,  and  seemed  causeless.  He  finally  turned  to 
his  newspaper,  merely  adding  again, 

"Don't  borrow  trouble.  Girls  sometimes  marry, 
and  then  their  fads  and  unrest  are  all  settled  over 
housekeeping  and  baby  rending.  Elizabeth  may 
solve  her  problems  as  you  did." 

"The  girls  of  my  period  didn't  have  problems, 
Horace.  They  took  destiny  as  it  came,  and  were 
contented  at  home.  Everything  is  changing  in  these 
days.  And  not  for  the  better." 

"Mother." 

"What  is  it,  daughter?" 

"Look  down  the  driveway.  There  come  Great- 
aunt  Sarah  and  Mrs.  Luther  Evans  and  the  twins." 

"Sure  enough.  This  is  a  surprise,  and  a  pleasant 
one.  Hurry,  Elizabeth,  and  see  that  the  luncheon 
table  is  reset,  and  that  there  is  plenty  for  all.  Aunty 
wanted  to  see  you,  1  suppose;  she's  not  been  here  in 
months,"  and  the  hospitable  lady  bustled  down  to 
meet  her  relatives  at  the  door. 

Great-aunt  Sarah  was  an  autocrat  in  the  family 
connection.  A  keen  faced  old  gentlewoman  with 
black  eyes  bright  as  a  hawk's,  and  a  curt  manner  of 
speech  that  matched  them.  She  was  a  person  to 
whom  the  clan  deferred.  Mrs.  Luther  Evans  was  the 
wife  of  a  third  cousin  and  the  twins  were  weedy 


56  JANET:  WARD 

girls  turned  fourteen.  The  party  were  most  cordially 
received. 

"Janet,"  said  Elizabeth,  looking  in  at  her  friend's 
room,  "slip  on  your  pale  blue  dimity  before  lunch 
eon.  Aunt  Sarah  has  never  met  you,  and  I  want  her 
to  see  you  looking  your  prettiest." 

"  Won't  this  fresh  shirt  waist  and  short  skirt  do  ?" 
inquired  Janet,  tearing  herself  reluctantly  from  a 
German  translation.  "I'm  going  for  a  tramp  with 
Nancy  as  soon  as  luncheon  is  over.  The  children  at 
Besom's  Hollow  are  either  ill  or  disaffected.  They've 
given  up  coming  to  Sunday-school  and  Nancy  and  I 
want  to  make  a  visit  of  conciliation." 

"Oh,  put  on  the  dimity,  do,  there's  a  dear;  we  al 
ways  use  a  little  ceremony  with  our  great-aunt. 
She's  a  lady  of  the  old  regime.  Mother  gets  lots  of 
her  aristocratic  ideas  from  her.  You  can  put  these 
togs  on  again  after  luncheon." 

So  it  was  a  very  dainty  little  lady  in  a  blue  frock 
which  was  most  becoming  who  made  her  curtsey  to 
Great-aunt  Sarah,  a  few  moments  later. 

"  Shall  you  girls  room  together  when  you  are  at 
college  ?  "  inquired  the  old  lady. 

"No,"  said  Elizabeth  regretfully.  "We  shall  not 
even  be  in  the  same  house.  It's  a  shame." 

"How  does  that  happen?  1  should  think  your 
father  might  arrange  anything  he  chose." 

"  No,  dear  Aunt  Sarah,  there  are  some  things  even 
daddy  can't  manage,  and  one  of  these  is  the  order  of 
precedence  in  one's  quarters  at  college.  My  applica 
tion  for  a  room  in  the  Hale  House  on  the  campus  was 
made  three  years  ago.  Janet  did  not  then  know  that 
she  was  going,  nor  did  I  know  her." 


CHANGES  57 

"  Besides,"  said  Janet,  very  simply,  "  I  couldn't 
afford  to  live  in  Hale  House  with  Elizabeth.  I  must 
be  domiciled  much  less  ideally,  though  I  shall  be  very 
comfortable  boarding  in  the  village." 

"But  you'll  be  in  the  same  classes,  and  with  the 
same  set?" 

"  Why,  of  course,  we'll  be  together  most  of  our 
time,"  answered  Elizabeth  without  hesitation,  which 
showed  how  little  she  really  knew  about  it.  For  a 
college  is  a  world  by  itself,  and  the  several  sets  are 
as  diverse  as  the  cliques  and  groups  in  society  in 
the  world  outside.  Naturally  the  young  women 
who  live  under  the  same  roof  are  brought  into  closer 
daily  intercourse  than  those  who  are  established  else 
where.  Janet  and  Elizabeth  were  to  move  in  differ 
ent  orbits  during  their  college  years,  but  of  that  they 
had  no  premonition  that  day. 

"Why  do  you  inquire?"  The  question  came 
from  Mrs.  Evans. 

"Only  that  I  thought  if  these  two  girls  were  to 
have  the  good  luck  to  be  together,  that  I  could  send 
them  some  beautiful  old  furniture  for  their  sitting- 
room.  I  have  a  mahogany  desk  that  belonged  to  my 
mother,  and  a  fine  square  old  sofa,  and  two  rocking- 
chairs  that  I  can  spare,  and  a  lot  of  blue  china.  You 
can't  buy  such  things  for  money.  But  if  Elizabeth's 
to  share  her  quarters  with  some  fly-away  thing  from 
the  South,  or  some  reckless  creature  from  a  Western 
ranch,  I'd  not  feel  safe  about  them.  Now,  Janet 
here,  would  take  as  much  care  of  fine  furniture  as  1 
would  myself." 

"  What  makes  you  think  so,  aunty?" 

"Oh,   I  can  tell.     I'm  never  deceived.     I  know  a 


58  JANET  WARD 

nice  girl  when  I  see  her,  a  girl  who's  had  good 
bringing  up." 

"  It's  the  blue  dimity,"  whispered  Elizabeth  in  an 
aside.  "  I'll  tell  you  what  to  do,  aunty,"  she  said, 
"keep  the  furniture  until  Janet  is  a  junior;  by  that 
time  somebody  may  fall  out  or  go  home  and  she  and 
I  can  be  together.  In  the  meantime  I'm  to  have  only 
a  single  room,  and  mother's  going  in  with  me  to  see 
me  settled,  and  get  what  I  must  have.  There  are 
only  campaign  necessities  provided  by  the  college. 
The  luxuries  we  must  put  in  for  ourselves." 

"Whatever  you  do,  Elizabeth,  don't  come  back  a 
learned  woman,"  said  Aunt  Sarah.  "  I  have  a  horror 
of  a  learned  woman." 

"There  isn't  much  danger,  I'm  afraid.  Janet  has 
more  probability  of  that  fate  than  I." 

Then  the  talk  was  diverted  to  another  channel  by 
Mrs.  Luther  and  the  twins. 


IV 

FRIENDS  TOGETHER 

ESTABLISHED  in  the  busy  order  of  college 
work,  Janet  found  herself  for  the  first  time  in 
her  life  in  a  position  when  she  was  at  once  in 
dependent  and  restrained.  The  situation  was  to  her 
a  peculiar  one.  Before  many  days  she  realized  that 
here  she  was  of  very  slight  importance,  she,  who 
had  been  a  central  figure  in  her  home,  and  in  the  par 
ish,  and  who  even  at  Dene's  Mills,  had  been  a  good 
deal  in  the  foreground.  She  was  now  only  one  girl 
among  hundreds,  and  had  her  way  to  make,  her  in 
fluence  to  exert,  as  a  unit  in  a  place  where  as  yet  she 
was  unknown.  The  experience  was  bewildering. 
As  she  confided  to  her  mother,  in  her  first  long  letter 
home,  she  felt  herself  to  be  the  equal  in  years  and 
claims  to  notice  of  the  dignified  seniors  whose  posi 
tion  was  so  assured.  She  even  could  have  met  with 
out  embarrassment,  some  of  the  younger  professors, 
but  she  was  hemmed  in  to  the  limits  of  the  fresh 
man  class  by  barriers  fine  as  cobweb  and  strong  as 
granite.  "  Your  poor  little  daughter  is  nobody 
here,"  she  wrote;  "how  long  she  will  remain  so, 
who  can  tell  ?" 

Her  mother  was  full  of  sympathy,  but  Mr.  Ward 
laughed  at  the  note  of  discontentment. 

"  It  will  do  Janet  good,"  he  said,  "to  find  out  what 
a  big  world  it  is  and  of  how  little  consequence  one 
young  woman  is  among  a  host." 

59 


60  ANEr  WARD 


She  was  the  lonelier  at  first  because  Elizabeth  had 
met  in  her  home  on  the  campus,  a  trio  of  old  school 
mates  who  received  her  with  open  arms.  They  had 
memories  in  common,  and  took  up  the  chapter  of 
college  life  at  the  leaf  they  had  turned  down  when 
they  left  the  preparatory.  Elizabeth  was  much  occu 
pied  in  making  her  room  beautiful,  and  so  full  was 
her  time  of  affairs  and  projects  that  except  in  class 
she  hardly  saw  Janet  for  the  first  ten  days.  Janet's 
little  nook  in  the  boarding  house  was  a  plain  corner 
room,  already  sufficiently  furnished.  The  rag  carpet 
on  the  floor  covered  it  comfortably,  and  Janet  did 
not  aspire  to  rugs  and  portieres  or  any  superfluous 
ornament.  Conspicuous  on  her  bureau  was  a  case 
containing  the  photographs  of  father,  mother  and  the 
boys,  and  she  wanted  nothing  more  decorative  than 
that  reminder  of  home  to  hold  her  lingering  eyes  at 
morning  and  evening.  The  dear  ones  at  home 
blessed  her  waking  and  her  sleeping  hours. 

Work  was  much  more  strenuous  than  Janet  had 
anticipated.  When  one  has  been  used  to  the  routine 
of  a  good  preparatory  school,  she  fits  in  easily  to  that 
of  a  higher  grade,  but  Janet  had  learned  on  her 
father's  lap  and  at  his  side,  sitting  on  a  footstool  at 
her  mother's  knee,  driving  beside  one  of  her  brothers 
when  the  old  pony  took  his  leisurely  pace  across 
country  to  carry  jelly  to  old  Mrs.  Darber,  or  a  book 
to  Miss  Anstruther,  the  cripple  who  sat  by  her  win 
dow  watching  for  callers.  Often  she  had  worked 
out  her  algebra  and  geometry  in  the  pauses  of  con 
versation,  as  she  had  reclined  half  curled  up  on  the 
divan  in  the  den,  when  the  minister  had  finished  ser 
mon  writing  for  the  day,  and  her  mother  had  come 


FRIENDS  TOGETHER         61 

in  for  her  afternoon  chat  before  tea.  It  had  been  de 
lightful  and  profitable  study,  but  very  desultory  and 
not  carried  on  in  the  disciplinary  methods  which 
made  tasks  so  simple  for  girls  less  well  equipped 
than  Janet.  She  found  it  absolutely  imperative  to 
spend  a  good  deal  more  time  in  getting  ready  for  her 
classes  than  Miss  Holland,  the  dean,  thought  wise. 

"  You  are  losing  your  color,  Miss  Ward,"  said  that 
lady.  "You  must  be  out  more,  exercise  more.  I 
do  not  want  you  to  break  down." 

Janet  promised,  but  half-heartedly.  How  was  she 
to  manage  ?  Elizabeth,  who  was  already  one  of  the 
popular  and  leading  spirits  of  the  class,  seemed  to  go 
to  recitations  lightly  as  a  bird,  and  to  come  off  with 
flying  colors.  Janet  caught  glimpses  of  her,  saw 
that  she  was  in  the  swim,  so  to  speak,  of  the  social 
life  of  the  class,  and,  incidentally  heard  herself  de 
nominated  a  grind,  by  a  girl  who  passed  her  with  a 
friend,  and  had  no  idea  that  her  voice  carried  so  far. 
Somehow  Janet  hated  to  be  called  a  grind.  There 
was  nothing  disgraceful  in  the  term,  yet  the  idea  made 
her  cheek  burn  hotly. 

Of  Nancy  she  saw  very  little.  But  when  they  did 
meet,  Nancy  was  the  same  quiet,  self-poised,  uncon 
scious  girl  she  had  been  at  the  Mills.  She  told  Janet 
she  was  very  busy.  "That  is  what  I  am  here  for," 
she  said  simply. 

"Have  you  made  many  acquaintances?"  asked 
Janet.  "Come  up  to  my  room  and  tell  me  how  it 
goes  with  you.  Do,  there's  a  dear." 

Nancy  consulted  her  little  silver  watch. 

"Yes,  I  will,"  she  said.  "You  know,  Janet,  1  am 
frankly  out  of  everything  except  my  work,  so  that  I 


62  JANET  WARD 

don't  mind  remarks  such  as  the  one  you  say  hurt 
you,  though  why  it  should  is  a  puzzle.  The  only 
girls  I  know  here  are  those  in  the  Christian  Union, 
and  you  know  them  too.  It  was  lovely  the  way 
they  welcomed  me  when  I  attended  the  first  prayer- 
meeting.  I  thought  you  would  surely  be  there,  Janet. 
I  mean  the  little  service  that  is  held  before  chapel 
on  Sunday  afternoon." 

Janet  blushed  again,  as  deeply  as  when  she  had 
been  called  a  grind  and  she  felt,  with  more  reason. 

"  Nancy,"  she  said,  "  I  have  something  to  confess. 
I'm  really  very  unhappy  about  it,  but  not  so  unhappy 
as  I  was,  for  I'm  getting  used  to  it.  I  cannot  seem  to 
be  ready  for  Monday  unless  I  study  a  good  bit  on 
Sunday;  that's  why  I  haven't  been  to  any  of  the 
meetings,  since  the  first  when  I  gave  them  my  name 
as  a  member,  and  that  one  you  did  not  attend." 

"No,  I  was  new  to  my  duties  out  of  hours  and 
hadn't  them  well  in  hand,  as  I  now  have,  but  I  think 
for  every  reason,  Sunday  study  is  a  mistake.  One 
needs  the  rest  from  books  for  that  one  day,  and  if 
the  fourth  commandment  means  anything,  it  means 
that  one  is  to  keep  it  sacredly,  and  to  refrain  from 
fascinating  secular  work.  I'm  not  yet  a  church 
member,  dear,  but  if  I  were,  I  should  try  very  hard 
not  to  break  the  Sabbath." 

Janet's  eyes  were  on  a  strip  of  blue  in  the  carpet. 
It  was  delft  blue,  her  mother  was  fond  of  the  tint, 
and  it  brought  her  face  vividly  to  the  girl's  mind. 

"  Forgive  me,  if  I  am  too  candid,"  said  Nancy,  as 
Janet  was  still  silent. 

"  You  are  right,"  Janet  spoke  very  low,  but  clearly. 
"  Mother  would  disapprove  of  it,  but  what  can  I 


FRIENDS  TOGETHER         63 

do  ?  And,  to  tell  the  plain  truth,  I  don't  see  any 
great  harm.  Father  used  to  insist  that  duties  never 
conflict.  Now  it  must  be  rny  duty  to  get  the  most  I 
can  out  of  college.  To  do  that  I  must  take  a  high 
place  in  my  work.  And  where  is  the  real  harm  of 
studying  on  Sunday  ?  At  home,  I  would  have  seen 
more  clearly,  here  I'm  confused." 

Nancy  was  surprised,  for  Janet's  course  in  the 
summer  had  been  that  of  a  Christian  girl  whose  stand 
ard  was  high,  and  there  had  seemed  no  possibility 
of  her  ever  lowering  it.  Yet,  here,  in  the  very  initia 
tive,  she  was  letting  go  of  her  moorings,  and  drifting 
into  habits  foreign  to  her  traditions.  Nancy  did  not 
think  that  she  was  the  one  to  preach,  and  she  rose  to 
take  leave. 

"  I  wouldn't  go  back  on  my  record,  if  I  were  you, 
Janet,"  she  said. 

Hardly  had  the  door  closed  on  her,  than  a  tap  an 
nounced  another  visitor  and  in  swept  Elizabeth. 
She  was  daintily  dressed,  with  a  bunch  of  violets  at 
her  belt,  and  her  prettiest  toque  perched  jauntily  on 
her  golden  head. 

"A  tea  at  Miss  Sherwood's  studio,"  she  said. 
"  Aren't  you  invited  ?  " 

"I  don't  know  Miss  Sherwood;  she  is  one  of  the 
art  teachers,  isn't  she,  and  I'm  not  studying  art.  How 
do  you  get  time  for  so  many  teas  and  things,  dear  ?  " 

"I  have  plenty  of  time;  I  don't  mind  skimming 
over  the  surface  of  some  lessons,"  Elizabeth  said 
airily;  "you  see  I  don't  need  to  be  profound.  Aunt 
Sarah  warned  me  not  to  turn  out  a  learned  woman, 
you  remember.  Also,  my  child,  I'm  copying  you, 
and  getting  up  some  of  my  lectures  on  Sunday  after- 


64  JANET  WARD 

noon.  I  never  would  have  thought  of  that,  but  if 
you  do  it,  there  can't  be  much  wrong,  so  my  con 
science  is  easy." 

Janet's  eyes  were  dismayed.  "  Elizabeth  !  who 
told  you  ?  "  she  cried. 

"Who  told  me?  Why,  I  don't  know.  It  hasn't 
needed  telling.  You  haven't  been  to  the  Bible  classes 
or  the  prayer-meetings;  you  don't  go  anywhere;  you 
don't  take  walks;  I  put  two  and  two  together,  and 
observing  the  excellence  of  your  recitations  on  Mon 
day,  I  considered  that  you  were — well — less  a  Puritan 
than  you  used  to  be.  And  I  resolved  to  imitate  you. 
Father  advised  me  to.  I  noticed  another  thing,  Janet. 
When  Wednesday  comes  which  is  relief  day,  if  there 
is  any,  you  are  too  dead  tired  to  study  or  to  play." 

Janet  was  much  disturbed.  Other  people's  opinions 
often  flash  a  light  over  our  actions,  which  is  by 
way  of  revelation  and  interpretation. 

"Elizabeth,  I  am  sorry.  I  believe  I've  been  selfish 
and  inconsistent.  If  you  will  stop  copying  me,  I'll 
be  very  grateful;  I'll  study  not  another  hour  on  Sun 
day  whether  I'm  conditioned  in  every  subject  this 
term  or  pass  my  exams,  perfectly.  I've  not  been 
true  to  my  profession,  Elizabeth.  I'm  sorry  and 
ashamed.  But  I'll  try  to  do  better." 

They  talked  a  little  longer  and  then  Elizabeth 
tripped  away  to  her  tea,  impressed,  though  she  had 
not  said  so,  by  Janet's  sensitive  mood  and  her  will 
ingness  to  accept  reproof.  Though  she  had  won 
dered  at  Janet's  new  phase  of  action,  Elizabeth  had 
quite  lightly  taken  it  for  granted,  and  the  group  in 
which  she  was  taking  her  place  was  not  one  to  worry 
over  what  the  girls  thought  trifles.  Indeed  her  room- 


FRIENDS  TOGETHER         65 

mate  openly  scoffed  at  the  Christian  Union  girls  as 
Pharisees  and  goody-goody  people,  and  there  had 
been  a  moment  when  Elizabeth  had  joined  issue 
with  her.  Janet,  she  was  so  sure,  was  neither  a 
goody-goody  character  nor  a  Pharisee.  Without  for 
mulating  the  matter  to  herself  Elizabeth  was  pinning 
her  faith  to  Janet,  and  Janet's  absorption  in  study  to 
the  fracture  of  her  principles  of  Sabbath  keeping  had 
given  her  friend  a  shock,  and  almost  a  push  backward. 

"Oh,  dear,"  sighed  Janet  Ward,  "why  did  I  ever 
leave  home?  I  felt  so  safe  there."  The  memory 
came  to  her  of  an  old  servant  in  her  early  childhood 
who  had  responded  to  her  mother's  regrets  over  some 
error,  "Ah!  honey,  how  pious  yo  done  toted  yo'self 
in  dem  days!"  "1  did,  I  did,"  she  said,  "tote  my 
self  as  if  I  were  pious.  It  was  nothing  in  the  world 
but  habit  and  self-righteousness.  Now  that  I  am 
away  from  my  father,  I  can't  care  for  good  things 
as  I  used  to;  there  isn't  much  heart  and  life  in  them. 
Now  I've  a  past  to  live  up  to,  and  I  don't  know  how. 
I  don't  seem  to  be  Janet  Ward.  I  feel  as  if  there  were 
no  reality  anywhere.  I'm  going  to  turn  over  a  new 
leaf,  but  it  isn't  that  I  want  to.  It's  only  to  please 
Nancy,  and  to  set  a  good  example  for  Elizabeth." 

Another  tap  at  the  door. 

"Come  in!"  said  Janet  reluctantly,  for  she  was 
longing  to  bury  herself  in  Chaucer,  and  forget  the 
last  half  hour. 

Entered  Miss  Evelyn  Prescott.  A  tall,  slender, 
dark-eyed  young  woman  perhaps  thirty  years  old, 
bearing  herself  with  an  air  of  distinction  and  grace. 
She  was  quietly  dressed  in  dark  cloth,  with  a  silk 
lining.  Janet  noticed  the  rustle  of  it  as  her  visitor 


66  JANET: 

crossed  the  room  and  seated  herself  with  her  back  to 
the  light.  Just  to-day  Janet  would  have  preferred  to 
welcome  almost  anybody  else,  for  she  was  well 
aware  that  the  girls  called  Miss  Prescott  a  mind- 
reader,  and  at  the  moment  Janet  felt  low  in  her 
mind.  But  her  hand  was  extended  in  welcome,  and 
there  was  no  hint  in  her  face  that  she  would  rather 
have  seen  somebody  else.  Her  slight  acquaintance 
with  Miss  Prescott  led  her  to  admiration  of  her  tact 
and  ability,  and  as  one  of  the  student  secretaries  of 
the  Young  Women's  Christian  Association,  both 
these  qualities  had  been  largely  developed. 

"  Miss  Ward,"  she  began,  "I  have  come  to  have, 
if  I  may,  a  frank  talk  with  you,  that  is,  if  you  can 
spare  me  a  little  while.  If  this  isn't  a  good  time  I  can 
come  again.  I  am  to  spend  a  week  here  with  the 
Union,  and  I  have  been  trying  to  find  out  who  may 
be  depended  upon  for  leaders  in  its  work." 

"I  am  not  one  whom  you  ought  to  choose,"  was 
Janet's  instant  reply. 

"May  I  ask  why  not?  I  have  heard  of  you  from 
old  friends  before  you  came  here,  and  I  know,  by 
reputation  at  least,  the  home  in  which  you  were 
brought  up.  As  a  daughter  of  the  manse,  you  have 
had  a  sort  of  preliminary  training  for  service.  I  speak 
positively  because  I  am  a  daughter  of  the  manse 
myself.  There  is  a  little  home  in  Ohio  which  ex 
pects  me  to  do  my  duty,  and  if  I'm  not  mistaken 
there's  another  in  Tennessee  which  will  be  pained  if 
you  do  not  do  yours." 

Janet  was  silent. 

The  dark  keen  eyes  searched  her  face,  but  it  was 
inscrutable.  She  resented  the  abruptness  of  her  visi- 


FRIENDS  TOGETHER         67 

tor's  approach,  and  Miss  Prescott  instinctively 
changed  her  tactics. 

"  Forgive  me  if  I  am  inopportune.  But,  dear  Miss 
Ward,  there  is  so  much  to  do  here;  the  field  is  so 
white  to  the  harvest  and  the  laborers  are  so  few. 
Think  of  nine  hundred  girls  all  gathered  here,  and 
such  a  little  handful  of  them  Christians.  Very,  very 
few  hostile,  very  few  pronounced  doubters,  but  the 
great  majority  apathetic,  indifferent,  caring  only  for 
themselves,  their  pleasures,  their  ambitions.  What 
sort  of  influence  is  to  go  out  from  these  halls  ?  Edu 
cated  women  who  are  not  Christians  will  do  more 
harm  than  good  when  they  take  hold  of  the  world's 
work.  Whether  you  know  it  or  not,  Miss  Ward,  the 
Lord  meant  you  for  leadership.  It  is  your  birthright. 
Surely  you  do  not  mean  to  lightly  esteem  it." 

She  spoke  winningly,  persuasively. 

"Miss  Prescott,"  said  Janet,  "I  have  so  lightly  es 
teemed  it,  if  you  are  right  in  your  thought  that  it  is 
my  birthright,  that  thus  far  I  have  been  bartering  it 
for  a  mess  of  pottage.  I  don't  know  what  to  make 
of  it,  but  since  I've  been  here,  everything  has  focused 
itself  in  one  strong  desire  for  brilliant  scholarship.  I 
have  not  cared  much  for  anything  but  this.  I  have 
lost  my  grip  on  spiritual  things,  lost  it  wholly,  and  I 
haven't  any  comfort  now  in  my  religion,  as  I  used  to 
have.  I  believe  just  as  I  always  have,  but  nothing 
seems  real;  it  is  as  if  a  mirage  were  before  me.  You 
see  you  needn't  count  on  me  for  help  in  the  Christian 
life  and  atmosphere  of  this  college." 

"Why  not?"  said  Miss  Prescott  gently.  "Tell 
me,  dear  child,  if  you  do  not  love  the  Master  enough 
to  stand  up  for  Him  still." 


68  JANET  WARD 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  know.  I  fear  I  have  very  little 
love,  very  little  loyalty.  There  is  in  my  heart  a  good 
deal  of  reluctance,  and  a  deadly  fear  of  posing.  I 
can't  be  a  hypocrite,  Miss  Prescott." 

"God  forbid  that  you  should.  I  will  ask  you  an 
other  question.  Do  you  doubt  the  Master's  love  for 
you,  His  power  to  keep  you  in  perfect  peace,  His 
willingness  to  sustain  you  ?  Do  you  question  His 
right  to  your  service,  His' ownership  in  you  ?" 

"No." 

"Then,  there  is  some  reason  for  your  coldness,  for 
your  wavering  when  He  wants  you.  Will  you  let 
me  ask  something  very  close  and  personal  ?  Have 
you  kept  up  since  you  entered  this  college,  your  daily 
Bible  reading,  your  daily  and  nightly  prayer?  If 
not,  you  may  have  let  your  soul  lie  exposed  to  the 
assaults  of  the  tempter  without  the  strong  One  to 
guard  you  from  his  darts." 

"Miss  Prescott,"  Janet  looked  her  friend  bravely  in 
the  eyes,  "1  have  been  so  rushed  since  I  began  my 
work,  that  I've  had  no  time  for  the  morning  watch  I 
used  to  keep,  and  I've  hurried  through  my  prayers." 

"Then,  that  accounts  for  everything.  My  dear, 
some  of  God's  greatest  saints,  the  busiest  and  most 
blessed  of  them  all,  have  spent  hours  of  every  day  in 
prayer.  The  first,  the  most  important  thing  for  you 
now  is  to  get  in  touch  again  with  God.  Please  be 
lieve  me.  One's  power  must  come  from  Him." 

"You  are  right.  I  know  you  are;  I'll  stop  just 
where  I  am,  and  with  God's  help,  will  begin  over 
again,  at  once." 

"  At  half-past  eight  this  evening,"  said  Miss  Pres 
cott,  rising,  "there  will  be  a  little  meeting  in  Miss 


FRIENDS  TOGETHER         69 

Barnard's  room  in  South  Hall.  Perhaps  ten,  perhaps 
twenty  girls  will  be  there  for  a  half  hour.  Please 
come.  Bring  any  one  you  choose." 

Janet  promised.  Miss  Prescott  went  away.  Janet 
took  down  her  note-book  and  seated  herself  to  study. 
But  presently  she  laid  it  aside  and  reached  for  the 
Bible  in  which  she  had  read  over  and  over  since  her 
fifteenth  birthday  when  her  father  had  given  it  to  her. 
Turning  the  pages  slowly,  she  dwelt  on  a  text  that 
seemed  to  gleam  starlike  from  the  book  of  Isaiah. 

"Thou  wilt  keep  him  in  perfect  peace,  whose 
mind  is  stayed  on  Thee,  because  hetrustethin  Thee." 

Janet  knelt  beside  the  bed  and  like  a  little  child 
besought  Jesus  to  forgive  her,  and  bestow  on  her  His 
peace.  As  she  rose  from  her  prayer,  there  was 
another  knock  at  the  door;  it  was  to  be,  it  appeared 
a  day  of  interruptions.  Without  any  impatience  this 
time  she  opened  it,  and  there  again  stood  Elizabeth 
with  a  little  shy  blushing  stranger. 

"Janet  dear,  this  is  Barbara  Maurice,  a  girl  from 
Tennessee.  She  lives  somewhere  near  the  place 
you've  gone  to — your  people  I  mean,  and  she's  des 
perately  homesick.  I  found  out  to-day  that  Barbara 
boards  just  opposite  you  in  that  white  house  behind 
the  elms.  I  told  her  you'd  be  a  friend  worth  having. 
Now  I  must  run  for  I'm  late  as  it  is." 

"I'll  try  to  be  a  friend,"  said  Janet,  asking  the 
sweet-voiced  Southern  girl  in.  Apologizing  a  little 
she  came,  and  it  wasn't  long  before  Janet  was  taking 
up  the  gracious  role  of  comforting  a  lonely  and  home 
sick  heart.  Barbara  lived  only  thirty  miles  from  the 
Wards'  new  manse,  and  thirty  miles  in  that  country 
meant  near  neighborhood. 


V 

IN  SOUTH  HALL 

MISS  BARNARD'S  room  in  South  Hall! 
Janet  could  not  remember  that  she  had 
met  Miss  Barnard  and  the  matter  was  ex 
plained  when  she  discovered  later  that  Elsie  Barnard 
was  a  senior.     She  asked  Barbara  Maurice  to  go  with 
her,  explaining  that  there  was  to  be,  she  imagined,  a 
little  prayer-meeting  and  that  Miss  Prescott  was  to  be 
present. 

"I  don't  care  for  prayer-meetings,"  answered  Bar 
bara,  "so  maybe  I'd  better  not  go." 

"  Come  for  once,"  said  Janet.  "  If  you  don't  like 
the  meeting  you  needn't  go  to  another." 

When  they  arrived  the  little  room  was  already  as 
full  of  girls  as  it  could  hold.  Girls  sat  on  the  large 
divan  which  was  a  sofa  by  day  and  a  bed  by  night, 
and  well  supplied  with  cushions  and  covered  by  a 
Bagdad  rug,  was  a  luxurious  addition  to  the  room. 
Girls  sat  in  the  two  or  three  chairs,  and  then  spilled 
over  on  the  floor  where  they  were  closely  packed; 
two  or  three  deep  were  the  rows  of  bright  faces, 
some  mirthful,  some  piquante,  some  thoughtful,  and 
all  youthful. 

Miss  Prescott  asked  if  somebody  would  start  a 
hymn,  and  at  once  Elsie  Barnard's  clear,  bird-like  voice 
began : 

70 


IN  so  urn  HALL          71 

"  Here  again  at  Jesus'  feet 
As  one  family  we  meet, 
Scattered  far  o'er  life's  rough  sea, 
Still  as  one  we  bow  the  knee  ; 
Saviour,  hear  us  as  we  come 
To  Thy  mercy-seat  and  throne, 
Be  not  silent  to  our  cry, 
Hear  Thy  children's  litany. 

"  For  the  work  so  near  Thy  heart, 
For  our  own  imperfect  part, 
For  the  word  to  thousands  preached 
And  the  millions  yet  unreached ; 
For  the  wanderers  coming  home ; 
For  the  souls  that  will  not  come ; 
For  the  unknown  bended  knee, 
Hear  Thy  children's  litany." 

"That  is  a  beautiful  lyric,  Elsie  dear,"  said  Miss 
Prescott,  "but  only  two  or  three  of  us  know  it.  I 
suppose  you've  been  practicing  it  since  I  saw  you 
last.  Now  let  us  strike  into  something  we  can  all 
sing,"  and  she  suggested,  "God  loved  the  world 
of  sinners  lost,  and  ruined  by  the  fall."  Everybody, 
indeed,  was  familiar  with  tune  and  words,  and  the 
melody  filled  the  heart  of  Janet  with  an  aching  long 
ing  for  the  manse  where  they  so  often  sung  around 
the  evening  lamp. 

The  meeting  was  not  strictly  speaking  one  of 
prayer.  It  was  rather  an  informal  gathering,  to  con 
sult  about  the  campaign  of  the  Christian  Union. 
Officers  were  elected,  plans  were  discussed,  there 
was  another  hymn  and  a  word  of  petition,  every 
thing  crisp,  brief,  and  hearty.  Then  the  girls  sepa 
rated. 

"Do  not  forget,"  said  Miss  Prescott,  "that  in  re- 


72  JANET: 

ligious  as  in  other  work,  common  sense  is  invaluable, 
indeed  indispensable,  that  the  wishes  of  the  faculty 
are  always  to  be  consulted  and  respected,  and  that 
we  are  to  avoid  anything  that  is  not  entirely  genuine. 
Rest  in  Jesus  Christ. 

" '  Hidden  in  the  hollow 

Of  His  blessed  hand, 
Never  foe  can  follow, 

Never  traitor  stand, 
Not  a  surge  of  worry, 

Not  a  shade  of  care, 
Not  a  blast  of  hurry 

Touch  the  spirit  there.'  " 

As  they  returned  to  their  home  in  the  village  leav 
ing  the  lights  of  the  campus  behind,  Barbara  Maurice 
slipped  her  hand  through  Janet's  arm. 

"  I  like  Miss  Prescott." 

"I  was  sure  you  would,  Miss  Maurice." 

"Barbara,  please;  we're  to  be  friends,  aren't  we?" 

Janet  smiled.  It  made  her  think  of  the  day  when 
she  and  Nancy  and  Elizabeth  sealed  a  compact  to  use 
one  another's  Christian  names.  Well,  why  not? 
Girls  who  were  to  be  together  for  four  years  need 
not  be  too  ceremonious. 

"If  you  are  going  to  join  the  Christian  Union,  I 
will,"  said  Barbara  emphatically.  "  I  don't  know  the 
very  first  thing  about  the  Bible,  not  the  first  thing, 
but  I'll  join  a  class,  and  study  it.  I  wonder  who'll 
teach  it." 

"  Probably  some  of  us  who  have  been  in  classes 
ourselves  will  have  to  take  the  teaching  in  turn,"  said 
Janet.  "I  wouldn't  mind,  only  I  feel  so  unworthy. 
Since  I  came  here,  my  lamp  has  been  almost  out." 


IN  SOUrH  HALL  73 

Barbara  only  half  understood  but  she  gave  Janet's 
arm  a  little  squeeze. 

"  It's  lighted  and  burning  now,  so  not  a  shadow  of 
worry  need  vex  you." 

"  Hello!  "  cried  a  familiar  voice  and  Nancy,  hasten 
ing  along  in  a  golf  cape  and  tam-o'-shanter  stopped 
for  a  moment's  chat. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?"  asked  Janet. 

"  Home.  I've  finished  my  day's  work.  I'll  stop 
in  to-morrow,  Janet,  and  give  you  my  news.  I  have 
something  fine  to  tell  you." 

"Who  is  that  girl?" 

"  Nancy  Wiburn,  Barbara,  a  friend  of  mine,  and 
the  bravest  girl  in  college." 

"She  has  a  cheery  voice,"  said  Barbara. 

Nancy's  good  news  when  told  was  certainly  the 
best  Janet  had  heard  in  some  days.  She  had  amused 
herself  last  summer  with  sketching  some  droll  situ 
ations  with  children  figuring  as  the  actors,  and  as  a 
venture  had  sent  her  drawings,  with  bits  of  rhyme 
beneath,  to  a  juvenile  magazine. 

Hearing  nothing  from  the  editor,  she  had  concluded 
that  her  work  was  rejected,  and  with  a  novice's 
usual  lack  of  courage,  had  made  no  inquiries.  What 
was  her  joy  when  the  mail  brought  her  one  morning 
a  letter  with  a  check,  some  criticisms  and  kind  com 
ments,  and  an  intimation  that  more  drawings 
would  be  acceptable  if  as  good  as  those  now 
accepted  and  paid  for. 

"It  solves  a  half  dozen  problems  forme,  Janet," 
and  Nancy's  face  was  luminous.  "  I  can  do  these  so 
easily,  and  I  can  begin  working  on  calendars,  which 
they  tell  me  at  the  Christian  Union,  will  be  much  in 


74  JANET  WARD 

demand  at  the  holidays  if  they  are  clever,  and  per 
haps  I  can  pay  my  way  with  brush  and  pencil,  in 
stead  of  with  mop  and  dusting  cloth." 

Janet  gave  her  a  hug.  This  was  good  fortune,  and 
to  be  rejoiced  over. 

"  Now,  dear,  explain  how  the  Christian  Union  has 
had  anything  to  do  with  it,  please." 

"  It  has  a  lot  to  do  with  it.  Do  not  you  know  that 
as  well  as  helping  students  to  a  higher,  deeper,  spirit 
ual  life,  it  has  committees  to  act  as  friends  to  any  who 
are  in  need,  and  has  besides  a  kind  of  woman's  ex 
change  that  it  carries  on.  In  this  great  host  of  girls 
there  are  a  good  many  who  must  help  themselves, 
and  it  is  true  Christian  work  so  to  do  it  that  the 
help  does  not  imply  patronage,  nor  interfere  with 
one's  independence.  There  is  a  girl  in  our  class  who 
is  a  good  seamstress  and  she's  mending  her  way 
through  college.  Another  needs  only  a  little  money, 
so  she  shampoos  hair  and  does  manicuring,  and  she's 
been  quite  successful." 

"How  they  do  it,"  said  Janet,  "I  am  puzzled  to 
understand.  I  can  do  with  effort  nothing  beyond 
my  daily  tasks." 

"Sometimes,  Janet,  one  toils  so  strenuously  that  she 
loses  the  good  effect  of  her  toil.  The  mind  grows 
dull  like  a  knife  that  has  lost  its  edge.  I'm  afraid 
you've  been  taking  your  work  too  seriously  for  the 
work's  good  and  for  your  own. 

"One  of  the  professors  gave  our  class  a  similar 
hint,  a  day  or  two  ago.  '  It's  never  worth  while  to 
work  till  one  drops,' "  he  said  seriously. 

"A  caution  that  most  of  us  don't  stand  in  need  of. 
There  comes  Miss  Prescott!  Do  you  observe  what  a 


IN  SOUTH  HALL  75 

fetching  hat  and  gown  she  wears  ?  If  ever  a  woman 
understood  the  art  of  dressing  to  perfection  it  is  she, 
yet  she  is  a  Christian  worker!" 

"  May  I  ask  why  you  say  yet"}  " 

"Oh,  because  somehow,  one  fancies  a  very  relig 
ious  person  must  be  as  to  externals  a  frump  or  a 
guy.  Miss  Prescott  is  neither.  She  is  almost  an 
artist  in  taste  and  her  choice  of  colors  always  de 
lights  me.  Last  summer,  no,  two  summers  ago,  I 
saw  her  on  a  platform  at  a  great  conference  of  young 
women.  It  was  July  and  torrid  weather,  the  days 
sultry,  the  nights  exhausting,  and  though  in  a  region 
of  hills,  for  the  time  we  felt  half  smothered.  But, 
standing  there  before  five  hundred  girls,  in  a  white 
frock  without  a  ruffle,  puff,  or  frill,  with  a  pale  blue 
stock  and  a  broad  sash  of  the  same  cool  hue,  tied 
round  her  waist,  Miss  Prescott  was  a  picture.  Her 
rarely  magnetic  eloquence  was  accentuated  by  her 
beauty;  she  constituted  her  own  background. 

"  My  grandmother,"  said  Janet,  "  used  to  warn  us 
against  love  of  dress  and  display  as  vanity." 

"  But  one  may  wear  exquisite  dress  and  not  be 
vain.  Display  is  vulgar  wherever  one  finds  it,  and 
no  refined  woman  dresses  for  the  sake  of  showing 
how  much  she  can  afford  to  spend." 

"Mother,"  said  Janet,  "has  the  art  of  making 
things  over  and  she  and  I  have  generally  been  arrayed 
in  the  garments  sent  us  by  rich  relations.  You  have 
no  idea  how  careful  a  minister's  family  has  to  be,  so 
that  they  may  not  violate  the  rules  of  propriety  on 
their  church.  Once  Aunt  Katherine  sent  mother  a 
very  elegant  cloth  cape,  trimmed  with  velvet  applique, 
and  finished  off  with  a  heavy  fringe.  We  debated  a 


76  JANET  WARD 

long  while  about  that  fringe,  and  finally  mother 
ripped  it  off,  though  its  loss  spoiled  the  cape.  It 
would  never  have  done  to  let  the  minister's  wife  ap 
pear  with  the  most  elegant  wrap  in  the  congregation." 

"But  why?" 

"Who  can  tell?  There  is  always  an  unspoken 
feeling  that  the  pastor  is  the  head  servant  of  the 
parish,  and  that  his  salary  partakes  a  little  of  a 
gratuity.  If  it  is  a  large  salary,  there  are  poor  peo 
ple  in  the  congregation  who  do  not  earn  nearly  as 
much  every  year,  yet  they  think  they  work  harder 
than  the  minister,  and  if  it  is  small  the  good  house 
keepers  in  the  parish  keep  a  watchful  eye  on  the 
minister's  wife  for  fear  she  will  waste  her  husband's 
income.  Either  way,  the  manse  is  the  centre  of 
observation  and  is  subject  to  that  'fierce  light  that 
beats  upon  a  throne.'  I  remember  that  when  I  was 
fourteen  I  had  a  very  pretty  little  frock  of  summer  silk ; 
it  was  simple  and  girlish,  and  a  wee  bit  longer  than  any 
I  had  ever  worn.  One  afternoon  I  wore  it  to  make 
some  calls,  and  returning  at  tea-time  did  not  take  it 
off.  Afterwards  in  the  twilight  I  sat  at  the  piano  play 
ing  a  few  little  airs  that  I  liked,  and  one  of  our 
neighbors,  Mrs.  Ketchum,  came  in  without  waiting  to 
knock.  In  villages  like  ours  at  home  friends  are 
rather  apt  to  do  that,  so  I  was  not  surprised  when  I 
turned  round  to  see  Mrs.  Ketchum  rocking  herself  by 
the  window.  I  said, 'Good-evening.'  She  answered, 
'Janet,  you  should  be  ashamed  of  yourself  to  keep 
your  best  dress  on  in  the  house.  Go  right  away  and 
take  it  off.  Your  mother  has  enough  to  do  without 
having  her  children  so  careless.' ' 

' '  Fancy  any  one's  being  so  impertinent,"  cried  Eliza- 


IN  SOUTH  HALL  77 

beth  who  had  strolled  in  during  the  story.  "What 
did  you  say  ?" 

"  I  was  fortunately  saved  from  making  some  quick 
retort  which  would  not  have  been  excused  by  my 
critic,  by  mother's  unfailing  tact  and  presence  of 
mind.  She  had  heard  Mrs.  Ketchum's  upraised  voice 
and  had  hastened  to  the  rescue.  Poor  mother  always 
had  her  foot  on  the  soft  pedal  with  me. 

"  '  Daughter,  '  she  said,  '  your  father  needs  you  up 
stairs;  run  away  and  help  him.'  Then  she  apologized 
to  Mrs.  Ketchum,  apologized,  mind  you.  '  It  was  my 
fault  that  Janet  did  not  change  her  frock.  I  wanted 
to  see  it  on  her.  I  was  afraid  it  might  be  a  trifle  too 
long/  and  Mrs.  Ketchum  was  mollified." 

"All  the  same  it  was  not  her  business  to  meddle." 

"Certainly  it  was  not  and  she  would  not  have  done 
so  anywhere  except  in  her  minister's  house." 

"  We  have  wandered  away  from  the  subject  we 
were  considering  before  Elizabeth  appeared  like  a 
moonbeam,  gliding  in  so  quickly,"  said  Nancy. 
"  We  were  talking  about  the  beautiful  toilettes  of 
Miss  Prescott.  Do  you  suppose  that  any  one  would 
regard  them  as  out  of  character  for  her  as  a  Christian 
woman  ?  " 

Elizabeth  laughed.  "A  tulip  might  as  well  dress 
like  a  mushroom,  or  a  rose  refuse  to  wear  satin  and 
velvet  and  try  to  resemble  a  cabbage,  as  a  woman 
like  Evelyn  Prescott  attempt  to  be  anything  but  her 
self.  My  way  of  looking  at  it  is  that  even  more  than 
any  one  else,  a  Christian  woman  should  be  attractive 
in  outward  seeming.  Miss  Prescott  influences  many 
girls  here  who  would  not  notice  her  if  she  were  not 
fine  in  her  carriage  and  smart  in  her  dress.  It  takes 


78  JANET  WARD 

an  immense  amount  of  talent  to  dissipate  the  impres 
sion  left  by  a  slovenly  garb  and  unkempt  hair." 

Janet  looked  at  Elizabeth  in  wonder.  She  was 
growing;  before  coming  here,  she  would  not  have 
expressed  herself  so  clearly  nor  with  so  much  thought 
on  a  subject  that  had  nothing  to  do  with  her  own 
experience. 

When  the  others  left,  Elizabeth  lingered. 

"Janet,"  she  said,  "I  miss  you.  I  wish  you  and  I 
were  more  together.  But  you  do  love  me  still,  don't 
you?" 

"Love  you,  Elizabeth?    Of  course  I  do." 

"And  you  won't  stop  loving  me  even  if  I  do  things 
you  don't  approve  of?" 

"  I  won't  stop  loving  you,  dear,  be  sure  of  that,  no 
matter  what  you  may  do." 

"  Well  then,  don't  be  shocked.  I'm  awfully  tired 
of  trying  to  be  good,  and  hereafter  I'm  going  to  let 
myself  go.  It  is  your  Miss  Prescott  who  has  laid  the 
last  straw  on  my  pack.  I  went  to  one  of  her  meet 
ings  to-day  in  a  girl's  room  on  our  corridor  and  I 
decided  that  if  I  had  to  be  a  Christian  after  her  pat 
tern,  I'd  never  have  time  to  be  anything  else.  I'd 
have  to  surrender  too  much.  I've  got  back  where  I 
used  to  be  last  summer,  and  I'm  a  good  deal  more 
comfortable.  I  believe  Miss  Prescott  wears  a  hair 
cloth  skirt  under  her  silks  and  laces.  She  talks  like  a 
medieval  nun.  So,  henceforth,  Janet,  you  needn't 
count  me  in  with  prayer-meetings  and  such  diver 
sions;  I've  cut  loose.  Sure  you  love  me  notwith 
standing?" 

Elizabeth  put  her  arm  about  Janet  and  kissed  her 
cheek.  Her  ways  were  most  winsome. 


IN  SOUTH  HALL  79 

Janet's  eyes  were  very  sober.  She  returned  the 
kiss  with  fervor. 

"I  love  you  just  as  dearly,  Elizabeth.  And  God 
loves  you  just  as  dearly,  which  is  better.  You  will 
not  be  contented  to  live  in  the  valleys,  when  you've 
been  on  the  heights." 

"But  you,  Janet,  are  not  what  you  were,  awhile 
ago.  You  have  told  me  this  within  a  few  days." 

"Dear,  I  have  found  out  my  mistake,  and  Christ 
has  helped  me  to  come  home  again.  He  will  not  let 
you  go,  either.  Good-night,  dearest." 

Barbara  Maurice  was  writing  home  to  her  mother 
not  long  after.  She  freely  poured  out  her  thoughts 
to  this  best  of  confidantes. 

"  College  is  queer.  There  are  all  sorts  and  con 
ditions  of  girls.  Some  have  always  had  things  and 
are  used  to  them.  Some  have  always  wanted  things 
and  are  afraid  they  can't  get  them.  Some  mean  to 
have  things  and  are  straining  after  them.  Here  are 
girls  from  the  South,  from  the  West,  the  East,  the 
North.  There  is  a  little  brown  Hindu  girl  in  her  na 
tive  dress,  and  a  graceful  Japanese  maiden  in  hers. 
It's  confusing  too,  for  evidently  some  of  the  professors 
do  not  believe  the  Bible  quite  as  we  do,  who  have 
come  out  of  homes  like  mine,  and  yet  I  am  quite  sure 
that  if  we  knew  half  as  much  as  they  do,  we  could 
understand  them  better.  I  don't  mean  to  lose  one 
grain  of  my  faith  in  my  dear  Father  in  heaven,  and  I 
don't  think  any  one  here  wants  me  to,  but  there  are 
girls  who  are  not  so  firmly  fixed,  and  they  are  at  sea. 

"  One  of  the  girls,  Janet  Ward,  has  a  father  who  is 
a  home  missionary  in  the  mountains  not  very  far 
from  you.  I  want  you  and  father  to  find  him  out. 


8o  JANET  WARD 

From  what  Janet  says,  and  from  what  she  is,  I'm  sure 
her  people  are  like  our  own  folk.  Mr.  Ward  has 
given  up  a  very  pleasant  pastorate,  I  fancy,  to  do  this 
hard  work  among  the  mountaineers,  and  Janet  ex 
pects  some  time  or  other  to  help  him.  A  few  of  the 
girls,  few  as  compared  with  the  great  mass,  are  very 
devoted  Christians.  Some  of  the  rest  think  these  put 
on  airs  of  goodness  and  are  affronted.  I  don't  think 
any  one  will  ever  say  this  of  Janet,  because  she  is  the 
most  natural  girl  I  ever  saw. 

"I  am  afraid  you'll  think  I  don't  study  enough, 
mother,  but  I  never  could  learn  fast,  and  here  I'm  ab 
sorbing  what  I  can.  You  won't  mind  if  I  seem  like 
a  dunce,  will  you  ?  I'm  pegging  away  at  my  piano 
practice,  so  tell  father  I'll  play  for  him  all  he  asks 
when  I  come  home." 

In  the  Tennessee  home  to  which  this  letter  went, 
there  was  a  grand  piano,  standing  on  a  pine  floor,  in 
a  big  bare  parlor,  where  the  rugs  were  of  home  man 
ufacture  and  the  walls  were  adorned  with  engravings 
in  narrow  black  frames,  and  with  two  or  three  maps 
on  a  large  scale.  Barbara  would  modernize  that 
home  one  of  these  days.  Part  of  her  training  at  col 
lege  would  be  to  show  her  how  to  make  a  charming 
interior  in  the  great  colonial  homestead  that  stood  su 
perbly  against  a  background  of  forest. 

"I  shall  look  up  the  Reverend  Ward,"  said  Mr. 
Maurice.  "  Bless  our  little  girl.  Play  for  her  old 
dad,  will  she,  when  she  comes  home  ?  I  wish  we 
had  her  at  home  now." 

"I  hope  college  won't  send  her  home  restless  and 
dissatisfied,  Bob."  The  little  mother  was  a  bit 
anxious  on  that  score  and  not  without  reason. 


IN  SOUTH  HALL  81 

"  Restless  ?  Our  Barbara  ?  Not  she.  Barbara  has 
too  much  ballast  for  that.  Don't  worry,  mother, 
over  your  little  maid." 

Meanwhile  the  Wards  were  fitting  into  their  new 
niche  as  if  they  had  been  born  there,  fitting  in  per 
haps  all  the  better  because  of  the  novelty. 

Mr.  Ward's  simple,  genial  cordiality  joined  to  the 
reality  of  his  childlike  faith,  won  the  reserved  and 
somewhat  shy  people  who  did  not  wear  the  heart 
upon  the  sleeve.  The  boys  took  to  the  outdoor  life, 
worked  on  the  little  farm,  learned  to  shoot  and  be 
good  marksmen,  to  ride,  to  drive,  to  fish  and  to 
swim.  They  had  lessons  with  their  father,  which 
some  other  lads  came  in  to  share.  When,  stopping 
at  a  cabin  half-way  up  a  hill,  and  almost  hidden  from 
view  by  the  dense  thicket  before  the  door,  Mr.  Ward 
found  a  lad  of  twelve,  lying  on  the  floor  and  work 
ing  out  an  algebra  lesson  by  the  light  of  pine  knots 
ablaze  on  the  hearth,  he  was  interested.  The  parents, 
people  of  a  quiet  dignity  that  surpassed  a  good  deal 
that  passes  current  for  fine  manners  in  fashionable 
society,  were  not  learned.  Mr.  Ward  fancied  that  the 
mother  might  perhaps  not  know  how  to  read.  But 
the  boy  was  athirst  to  learn,  and  was  diligently  toiling 
without  assistance  over  an  old  school  book  left  in  the 
house  by  a  stranger  who  had  once  spent  some  months 
in  the  mountains,  in  search  of  health. 

"  Who  has  taught  you,  Harold?"  naturally  inquired 
the  new  minister. 

"Nobody,  sir.  I've  picked  it  out  by  myself.  It's 
very  easy  when  you  get  the  key." 

"  I'd  be  proud  to  see  a  boy  of  mine  working  away 
so  bravely,"  said  Mr.  Ward.  "  Now,  look  here, 


82  JANET  WARD 

bring  your  books  to  me,  and  study  with  my  sons. 
They'll  do  better  if  they  have  other  boys  to  help 
them.  I'm  glad  I  know  algebra." 

Here  entered  the  swift  pride  of  the  mountaineer. 

"I  could  no  ways  let  him  go,  Mr.  Ward,  even  to  a 
preacher,  if  I  couldn't  pay  for  him,"  said  the  mother 
very  firmly. 

"  You  can  pay,"  answered  Mr.  Ward  at  once.  "  I 
see  you  keep  bees.  My  wife  wants  honey.  I'll  take 
my  pay  in  that." 

The  bargain  was  made  and  Harold  McRae  hence 
forward  had  good  teaching  till  the  day  arrived  when 
he  and  Stuart  Ward  set  out  for  the  university.  There 
were  few  lighter-hearted  boys,  though  they  started 
afoot  and  walked  a  three  days'  journey  over  steep  and 
rough  mountain  roads  to  reach  the  goal. 

Mrs.  Ward  was  most  touched  by  the  early  aging 
of  the  women.  The  young  girls  were  often  very 
beautiful,  and  always  wearing  a  sunbonnet,  their  com 
plexions  wore  the  hue  of  the  rose,  and  were  of  rose- 
leaf  texture.  But  they  married  early,  and  soon  en 
tered  on  lives  of  drudgery,  bearing  and  rearing  large 
families,  doing  a  great  deal  of  hard  and  unrelieved 
housework,  with  no  variety  or  amusement  from  the 
outside  and  few  interests.  The  food  was  unwhole 
some,  the  houses  inconvenient,  the  life  solitary,  so 
the  women  grew  old  fast.  The  rose-leaf  skins  grew 
faded  and  wrinkled,  the  elastic  steps  dragged,  the 
shoulders  bowed  and  the  heads  drooped. 

"  Have  you  noticed,  David,  that  though  these 
people  are  very  hospitable,  and  though  they  press  you 
to  take  meals  with  them,  the  mother  hardly  ever  sits 
down  with  the  family  ?  It  looks  odd." 


77V  SOUTH  HALL  83 

Mr.  Ward  assented. 

"  She  hovers  around  the  table  pressing  the  preserves 
or  the  pickles  on  your  notice.  She  isn't  satisfied  un 
less  you  eat  all  there  is  heaped  on  your  plate,  but  she 
doesn't  sit  down  herself.  I  don't  believe  these  wives 
have  the  habit  of  eating  with  their  husbands  and  chil 
dren.  They  wait  till  the  rest  are  fed,  and  then  they 
take  what  is  left.  I  can't  get  used  to  it." 

"Well,  dear,"  and  Mr.  Ward  looked  happily  at  the 
wife  who  had  renewed  her  youth  in  the  mountain 
air  and  the  new  scenes,  although  she  too,  had  to 
work  hard  here,  because  of  the  difficulty  of  securing 
any  one  to  help,  "we  must  not  interfere  with  the 
ways  of  the  community.  We  must  be  very  slow  to 
make  changes  or  to  appear  critical." 

"Critical,  dear  husband!  Never  that!  But  wait 
till  Janet's  vacation  comes.  She  and  I  will  maybe 
organize  a  woman's  club!  That  would  stir  them  up." 


VI 

FUTURES 

ORGANIZE  a  woman's  club  among  the 
mountain  women  of  Tennessee,  women 
living  in  log  cabins,  riding  to  mill  or  to 
church  with  the  ease  of  those  who  have  been  used  to 
horses  from  the  cradle,  wearing  sunbonnets  and  cal 
ico  dresses  all  the  week,  with  only  the  change  to 
clean  ones  for  Sunday;  Mr.  Ward  thought  it  was 
hardly  likely  that  the  idea  would  be  favorably  re 
ceived  by  any  women  in  his  scattered  hill  parish. 
Yet  the  day  came  when  Janet  and  her  mother  made 
a  very  enthusiastic  attempt  at  the  impossible,  and 
found  obstacles  not  unsurmountable  when  attacked 
with  faith  and  courage.  But  for  that  the  story  must 
wait,  since  it  was  not  accomplished  nor  even  begun 
in  Janet's  first  vacation.  Only  the  initiative  was  ta 
ken  in  some  of  the  twilight  talks  between  her  and 
her  mother,  and  the  long  afternoon  tramps  of  Janet 
and  her  father. 

College  days  pass  more  swiftly  than  the  weaver's 
shuttle  flies.  To  the  freshman  it  is  a  far  cry  to  the 
glory  of  the  senior  year,  and  the  young  women  flit 
ting  about  in  the  dignified  cap  and  gown  of  the  upper 
classes,  are  objects  not  of  envy,  but  of  admiration, 
while  they  appear  remote  as  planets  beyond  the  fresh 
man's  orbit. 

The  years  do  not  stay  their  progress,  and  busy  to 
84 


FUTURES  85 

the  uttermost,  they  slip  imperceptibly  by,  each  hold 
ing  a  brimming  cup  of  hope  and  joy  to  the  lips  of 
girlhood.  Imperceptibly  too,  yet  surely  and  steadily 
the  girls  develop,  so  that  it  may  safely  be  predicated  of 
the  senior  whether  or  not  she  will  be  a  woman  worth 
following  in  the  great  world  awaiting  her.  Those 
wise  people,  learned  in  girlhood's  lore,  who  have 
grown  used  to  discriminating  between  members  of 
their  classes,  quietly  select  the  ones  who  shall  be 
heard  from  by  and  by;  often  the  president  and 
professors  are  much  better  acquainted  with  the 
daughters  of  Alma  Mater  after  four  years  of  daily  inter 
course  than  are  the  busy  parents  at  home.  A  parent 
has  always  the  ideal  daughter  in  his  mind,  not  always 
the  real  one;  though  of  this  fact,  most  of  the  uninitia 
ted  are  disposed  to  be  doubtful. 

Janet  bloomed  into  wonderful  womanly  beauty  and 
stateliness  during  her  four  years  at  Lucas.  She  owed 
little  to  dress,  for  she  absolutely  refused  to  let  Eliza 
beth's  mother  keep  on  sending  her  presents,  and  her 
Aunt  Katherine  was  so  incensed  at  what  she  termed 
the  wild-goose  chase  of  the  family  to  the  south,  that 
for  awhile  her  benefactions  ceased.  But  Janet  was 
helping  herself.  She  wrote  a  little  for  the  weekly 
papers  with  varying  results.  Lots  of  her  "stuff"  as 
she  called  it  came  flying  swiftly  back  as  Noah's  dove 
to  the  ark,  having  found  no  resting-place.  How 
Janet  hated  the  very  look  of  those  politely  worded 
billets  in  which  editors  suavely  thanked  her  for  the 
pleasure  they  had  had  in  reading  her  stories,  while 
regretting  that  they  could  not  print  them.  She  in 
variably  tore  these  notes  into  the  most  minute  frag 
ments  and  vindictively  threw  them  into  her  waste- 


86  JANET  WARD 

basket.  After  awhile  she  learned  to  care  little  for  a 
single  rebuff,  and  having  tried  one  paper  in  vain,  she 
sent  her  manuscript  adrift  again,  quite  sure  that  in 
the  end  it  would  find  its  niche,  if  it  were  worth  any 
thing.  Of  course  she  could  write  merely  in  the  in 
tervals  of  her  time,  and  she  had  not  determined  on  a 
literary  career  in  her  most  confident  moments,  very 
few  of  her  friends  knowing  that  she  was  inclined 
that  way  at  all.  When  the  little  clean  bits  of  paper 
that  meant  translation  into  crisp  bills  at  the  bank, 
came  along,  Janet  was  a  happy  girl,  and  she  was 
able,  somehow,  to  manage  without  many  calls  on 
the  pocketbook  in  the  manse.  It  was  marvellous 
how  well  she  did  manage.  If  writing  gave  out, 
or  the  flow  of  ideas  stopped,  she  undertook  work  in 
quite  another  department  of  money-making  effort. 

There  are  always  girls  who  are  willing  to  pay  any 
body  who  will  replace  braids  on  frayed  skirts,  sew 
on  buttons,  and  shampoo  hair.  A  girl  who  can 
make  dainty  stocks  is  sure  of  customers.  A  girl  who 
can  copy  out  notes  in  a  plain  hand  shall  find  em 
ployers.  Miss  Ward  from  Springdale  could  act  as  a 
general  utility  woman  on  occasion,  and  her  services 
were  so  pleasantly  given  that  they  were  popular.  A 
girl  never  loses  caste  in  college  by  undertaking  any 
honest  work  from  shoe  polishing  to  authorship. 
Janet's  versatility  was  much  prized,  and  she  had  fun 
out  of  her  struggles. 

So  the  years  flitted.  Janet  as  a  senior  was  the 
most  marked  girl  in  her  class,  not  the  most  brilliant 
or  the  most  ready,  but  the  one  noted  everywhere  for 
strength  and  character.  And  she  kept  her  childlike 
sweetness  and  humility  inviolate  all  through. 


FUTURES  87 

The  favorite  professor,  adored  by  successive  gen 
erations  of  girls,  and  influential  in  her  world  as  few 
people  ever  are,  sent  for  Janet  one  day.  To  be  sum 
moned  by  Miss  Kenyon  to  a  private  conference  was 
an  honor  and  a  privilege.  Elizabeth  and  Nancy  won 
dered  what  Miss  Kenyon  could  want.  Janet  herself 
was  excited  and  pleased,  and  walked  down  the  long 
pathway  between  the  elms,  with  her  head  in  the  air 
and  her  mind  full  of  dreams.  Perhaps  there  was 
something  she  could  do  to  help  "Queen  Katherine" 
as  the  girls  called  Miss  Kenyon. 

The  lady  was  seated  in  a  pleasant  room,  long  and 
low,  and  filled  with  books.  Engravings  and  photo 
graphs,  rare  curios  from  Japan  and  India,  and  beauti 
ful  bits  of  glass  and  china,  made  the  room  very 
charming.  Its  mistress,  a  small  dark  woman  with  a 
piquant  face  that  had  won  the  confidence  of  many  a 
pupil  and  assured  her  of  sympathy  in  any  hour  of 
need,  rose  to  welcome  Janet  when  she  entered. 

"You  were  kind  to  come  so  promptly,  my  dear. 
I  wish  to  talk  over  the  future,  yours  if  I  may.  We 
are  all  interested  in  our  most  faithful  students,  of 
whom  you  are  one.  What  was  your  purpose  when 
you  came  to  Lucas,  Miss  Ward  ?  Was  it  very 
definite?" 

"To  make  the  most  of  my  time,  so  that  I  might 
somehow  help  my  father  out  with  the  boys.  We 
are  poor,  Miss  Kenyon,  poorer  now  than  when  I  en 
tered  college,  Father  having  gone  into  the  Home 
Mission  field." 

"Precisely,  I  know  that.  Now,  there  come  to  us 
from  time  to  time  applications  for  our  graduates,  and 
it  is  as  well  for  them  and  for  us,  to  be  ready  for 


88  JANE?  WARD 

whatever  may  open.  Do  you  think  you  would  like 
to  teach  next  year?" 

Janet's  answer  was  very  emphatic.  She  made  a 
little  face  of  distress. 

"No  indeed,  Miss  Kenyon,  not  I.  I  am  sure  that 
teaching  will  never  be  my  work.  I  did  try  it  the 
summer  before  I  came  to  college  and  was  moderately 
successful  in  a  little  district  school  in  the  country,  but 
I  have  learned  how  little  I  know,  and  I  would  rather 
put  my  talents,  such  as  they  are,  into  some  other 
field.  Just  what  that  may  be,  I  don't  yet  see 
clearly." 

"It  will  be  revealed  to  you  in  due  time,"  said  Miss 
Kenyon.  "One  must  wait  for  leadings,  but  one 
must  also  be  prepared  for  whatever  beckons  her.  I 
have  been  looking  over  your  essays  and  verses,  and  I 
think  you  might  take  up  some  form  of  literary  work. 
Why  not  write  ?  You  have  written  a  little,  I  happen 
to  know." 

"  Miss  Kenyon,"  Janet's  face  flushed  and  her  eyes 
sparkled,  "nothing  would  be  so  delightful,  nothing 
so  splendid;  but  I  lack  creative  genius.  I  have  not 
much  imagination.  It  would  hardly  be  worth  while 
for  me,  seriously,  to  attempt  novels  and  romances; 
and  I  cannot  sit  still  and  wait  for  money.  When  I 
leave  college,  I  must  at  once  plunge  in  and  become 
self-supporting.  In  other  words,  I'll  immediately  be 
in  need  of  a  steady  job." 

Miss  Kenyon  smiled.  "  I  see,"  she  said.  "  But  you 
are  very  young,  and  let  me  tell  you,  my  dear,  nobody 
can  write  a  successful  romance  unless  she  has  lived  it 
first,  or  has  had  sufficient  knowledge  of  life,  in  its 
sorrows  and  sufferings,  to  understand  the  struggles 


FUTURES  89 

of  others.  The  great  exceptions  such  as  Charlotte 
Bronte,  for  instance,  only  prove  the  rule.  I  was 
thinking  of  something  far  less  ambitious;  why  not 
become  a  journalist  ?  There  is  plenty  of  opportunity 
in  the  cities  for  the  young  newspaper  woman,  and  as 
you  have  diligence,  conscience,  and  a  good  incisive 
style,  joined  to  an  eye  quick  to  observe,  I  think 
there  will  be  your  role.  If  not  and  you  will  change 
your  mind,  I  can  place  you  at  once  in  an  academy  in 
the  south,  not  two  hundred  miles  from  your  home, 
where  you  may  begin  teaching,  at  a  fair  salary.  I 
am  really  offering  you  the  position  before  I  have 
spoken  to  any  one  else." 

"  How  very  good  you  are,  and  how  much  I  thank 
you,  Miss  Kenyon." 

Janet  was  silent  for  a  few  minutes,  then  she  rose. 

"May  I  think  the  situation  over  and  take  time  to 
write  to  my  parents  before  I  decide  ?" 

"  Yes,  you  may  have  one  week,"  said  Miss  Kenyon. 
"  Please  think  soberly;  don't  be  impulsive." 

Janet  told  Nancy  all  about  it  before  bedtime.  She 
wished  Miss  Prescott  were  there,  to  be  consulted; 
the  girls  felt  that  her  judgment  was  almost  infallible, 
but  she  fancied  Miss  Prescott  might  be  somewhere 
across  the  continent.  Nothing  had  lately  been  heard 
from  her.  Nancy  favored  the  bold  plan  of  going  at 
once  into  the  arena  of  journalism. 

"  Father  will  hate  to  have  me  become  a  reporter," 
said  Janet,  "and  mother  will  dread  my  going  to  a 
big  city  alone.  They  are  sure  to  veto  the  whole  pro 
ceeding.  It's  hardly  worth  while  to  consult  them.  I 
can  hear  dear  mother's  voice  and  see  her  face  of 
recoil  at  the  bare  suggestion.  The  teacher's  work 


90  JANET  WARD 

will  impress  her  agreeably,  for  she  knows  about  that 
and  it  will  seem  to  her  safe  and  respectable  work  for 
a  lady." 

"What  is  it  that  is  work  for  a  lady?"  asked  a 
familiar  voice.  "  I  tapped  twice  at  the  door,  but  you 
girls  were  so  engaged  in  your  discussion  that  you  did 
not  hear  me,  so  I  just  walked  in." 

"Miss  Prescott!  You  darling!  You  love!  where 
did  you  fall  from  ?  Out  of  the  sky  just  when  I 
wanted  you  most?"  cried  Janet  rapturously. 

"Not  out  of  the  sky,  but  out  of  a  hospital  near 
Boston,"  answered  Miss  Prescott.  "I  never  took 
my  western  trip.  I've  been  ill,  and  am  only  in  shape 
to  begin  work  again  now.  I  was  going  to  Denver 
last  Thursday,  but  was  hindered  and  obliged  to  re 
main  over  Sunday,  and  then,  an  invisible  threat  of 
attraction,  very  strong  and  fine,  drew  me  here.  I 
just  determined  to  take  the  Lucas  girls  by  surprise, 
and  this  explains  me.  Is  my  arrival  convenient  ?  Can 
you  put  me  up  anywhere  ?" 

"You  shall  have  my  room,  and  I'll  slip  in  with 
Nancy.  But  you  must  rest  and  have  something  to 
eat.  Sit  right  down  and  take  off  your  wraps." 

Janet  was  not  now  in  the  boarding-house  which 
had  been  her  first  domicile.  For  eighteen  months 
she  had  had  a  room  in  one  of  the  homes  on  the 
campus,  with  a  certain  responsibility  as  to  the  order 
and  pleasure  of  the  household,  so  that  though  not 
cumbered  with  domestic  cares,  she  was  chief  aid  to 
the  house-mother,  and  thus  lessened  her  own  ex 
penses.  Nancy  too,  who  had  been  making  a  fair  in 
come  from  her  drawings,  was  there,  and  Elizabeth 
Evans  was  a  stone's  throw  away,  in  the  same  quar- 


FUTURES  91 

ters  which  she  had  entered  in  her  freshman  year. 
The  trio  were  in  close  touch  at  this  period. 

"  We  will  defer  our  chat  till  to-morrow  morning, 
and  now  I  will  go  and  forage  and  get  you  a  luncheon 
before  you  retire,  and  meanwhile  Nancy  shall  make 
over  the  bed  for  you,  so  that  you  can  sleep  in  peace, 
Miss  Prescott." 

The  bed,  on  which  Nancy  was  then  sitting,  was 
by  day  a  divan,  but  with  a  few  deft  touches  and  the 
addition  of  a  pillow  brought  from  a  closet,  it  was 
transformed,  and  everything  was  presently  arranged 
for  the  guest's  comfort. 

"I  am  so  glad  Miss  Prescott  is  here,"  said  Janet. 
"The  more  I  think  of  it,  the  surer  I  feel  that  my  best 
way  will  be  to  settle  this  question  for  myself,  and 
tell  father  and  mother  about  it  when  I  am  with  them 
in  vacation.  If  once  a  course  is  resolved  upon,  they 
will  not  see  the  lions  in  the  way  so  very  plainly." 

"If  you  do  go  to  New  York,  Janet,"  said  Nancy, 
"you  and  I  can  be  together." 

"  Of  course,  and  very  likely  Barbara  too.  She  is 
going  there  to  study  music  for  a  year  or  two." 

Miss  Prescott,  left  alone  in  Janet's  room,  did  not 
immediately  retire.  She  was  just  enough  older  than 
the  world  of  girls  around  her,  to  appreciate  their 
restlessness,  to  feel  with  them  the  incoming  of  the 
great  tides  of  life.  Not  so  long  ago  she  had  stood 
where  they  were  now,  and  her  whole  heart  was  set 
on  serving  them.  It  was  part  of  her  life  to  pray,  and 
she  very  simply  committed  this  visit  to  Lucas  and 
Janet  Ward,  to  her  Father  above,  before  she  laid  her 
head  on  the  pillow. 

In  the  morning  she  came  quietly  into  the  breakfast- 


92  JANET  WARD 

room  and  the  whole  house,  fifty  girls,  rose  to  greet  her. 
The  ripple  of  pleasure  ran  round  the  tables.  It  was 
evident  that  whoever  might  be  welcome  at  Lucas,  few 
could  surpass  Miss  Prescott  in  being  royally  so.  She 
had  beyond  most  women  the  gift  of  tact.  She  knew 
when  to  speak  and  when  to  be  silent.  Not  invari 
ably  were  visiting  secretaries  cordially  received  by 
college  faculties;  some  were  too  emotional,  some 
disregarded  college  regulations,  some  allowed  their 
meetings  to  trench  upon  time  sacred  to  study,  but 
Miss  Prescott  did  nothing  of  this  sort.  She  was  dis 
cretion  itself;  prudence,  piety  and  charity,  Elizabeth 
declared,  were  in  Miss  Prescott's  person  rolled  into 
one  modern  young  woman. 

"  My  firm  belief,  Janet,  is,"  she  averred,  in  the 
subsequent  talk  which  came  after  Janet's  German 
class  next  day,  ' '  that  you  must  consult  the  dear  people 
at  the  manse,  before  you  go  to  such  a  place  as  New 
York.  I  feel  that  you  owe  them  a  twelvemonth  at 
home  if  they  want  you.  They  have  given  up  a  big 
slice  of  their  only  daughter's  youth,  and  I'm  not  sure 
that  you  won't  get  your  bearings  best,  by  being 
awhile  out  of  the  crowd.  Life  here  is  life  in  a 
crowd  as  you  are  well  aware." 

"  But,  Miss  Prescott,  I  ought  to  be  earning  money 
without  any  delay." 

"  Every  girl  feels  that,  and  few  girls  can  wait,  yet 
there  may  be  no  more  immanent  occasion  for  your 
earning,  next  autumn,  than  there  is  at  this  moment. 
Do  let  your  mother  have  you  a  wee  while,  dearest.  I 
would  tell  Miss  Kenyon  at  once  that  you  are  out  of 
the  running  for  the  academy.  Then  she'll  choose 
Ellen  Radford,  or  Margaret  Dunn,  who  each  wish  to 


FUTURES  93 

teach,  and  who  are  both  far  better  fitted  for  teaching 
than  you  are  likely  to  be." 

So  it  was  settled.  Miss  Prescott  had  her  confab 
with  Nancy,  too,  but  Nancy  never  needed  outside 
counsel.  She  was  strong  as  a  tree  that  is  rooted  deep 
in  the  soil  and  toughened  by  rough  tussles  with  the 
storm.  Nancy  had  nobody  who  must  be  deferred  to; 
she  did  as  she  liked,  yet  kept  through  it  all  a  womanly 
gentleness,  never  rudely  aggressive,  though  singu 
larly  free  from  timidity. 

"  Nancy  Wiburn  will  be  an  artist,  in  what  line  I 
don't  know,"  Miss  Kenyon  said  to  Miss  Prescott. 
"  She  is  an  interesting  study,  and  the  more  so,  that 
she  is  so  free  from  self-consciousness.  Now  there's  an 
instance  for  you  of  nothing  coming  from  heredity." 

"  I'm  not  so  certain  and  neither  can  you  be,  I  fancy. 
We  cannot  trace  her  ancestry,  but  she  must  have 
good  blood.  I  like  to  think  that  through  Nancy's 
desolate  childhood,  there  were  those  in  heaven  who 
kept  a  loving  watch  over  her,  and  who  are  watching 
over  her  now  in  her  young  womanhood.  Don't  you 
think  that  her  mother  may  be  permitted  to  care  for 
her  orphan  child,  Miss  Kenyon  ?" 

"God  knows,  my  dear,  I  don't.  My  stumbling- 
block  is  this:  if  a  mother  were  guarding  her,  why 
need  she  have  had  so  much  to  suffer,  to  endure  ?" 

"Ah,  my  friend,  God's  years  are  not  as  ours,  nor 
His  plans  like  yours  and  mine.  If  He  chose  to  lift 
Nancy,  a  pure  lily  from  the  scum  of  the  earth,  He 
could  do  it.  If  He  chose  to  let  her  grow  as  a  trans 
planted  rose,  out  of  one  of  His  fairest  gardens,  to 
bloom  by  the  wayside,  He  could  do  that.  Anyhow, 
here  is  Nancy  and  here  is  Janet,  and  two  lovelier 


94  JANET  WARD 

girls,  who  are  more  different  one  from  the  other,  I 
don't  believe  you  will  ever  find." 

"Now  here,"  cried  a  laughing  girl  interrupting  the 
conversation  of  her  betters,  as  she  came  in  bringing 
Miss  Prescott  a  new  book,  and  Miss  Kenyon,  a 
bouquet,  "  here  is  Elizabeth.  Poor  Elizabeth,  whom 
you  haven't  had  a  word  for  this  whole  week,  Miss 
Kenyon.  And  Miss  Prescott  doesn't  bother  much 
about  Elizabeth  either." 

"  Elizabeth  is  one  of  those  exceedingly  satisfactory 
people  whom  one  never  worries  about,  and  whom 
one  is  quite  sure  of  finding  in  the  right  place  when 
ever  she  looks  for  her,"  and  Miss  Prescott  smiled  as 
she  gave  this  verdict. 

"Elizabeth,  what  are  you  going  to  be?"  said  Miss 
Kenyon,  curiously.  "You  have  made  no  plans  yet, 
have  you,  child  ?  You  never  seem  anxious." 

"Why  yes,  Miss  Kenyon,  I  have  my  dreams,  but 
my  plans  are  simple.  I  shall  be  Elizabeth  Evans  of 
Dene's  Mills  for  a  while.  I  may  marry.  I  always 
supposed  I'd  marry  my  far  away  cousin,  Tom  Evans, 
but  that's  off.  We  do  not  care  for  one  another  in 
the  least,  any  more,  and  now  I'm  hoping  Tom  will 
fall  in  love  with  Janet.  I'm  going  to  be  an  every 
day  woman  with  no  end  of  fun,  and  no  end  of  a 
good  time,  and  I'll  do  my  duty  if  I  can,  in  that  station 
to  which  it  has  pleased  the  good  Lord  to  call  me." 

So  light-hearted  Elizabeth  went  merrily  on  her  way. 
Little  did  she  forecast  the  years  that  were  to  be,  nor 
all  that  might  befall  her.  As  she  disappeared  the  two 
older  women  gazed  wistfully  after  her,  and  Miss 
Kenyon  said,  "  She  represents  a  type  that  is  the 
saving  salt  of  our  society.  The  home-keeping, 


FUTURES  95 

home-making  conservative  woman,  who  does  not 
aspire  to  a  career,  who  is  content  with  her  old- 
fashioned  heritage  of  love  and  peace,  and  who  does 
not  so  much  as  hear  the  echoes  of  the  strife  and  con 
tention  abroad  in  the  earth." 

"  Elizabeth  was  born  to  wealth." 

"That  does  not  account  for  it.  Rich  girls  are  as 
restless  as  poor  girls,  as  bent  on  independence,  as 
ardent  to  be  up  and  doing.  An  eager  desire  to  work 
is  in  the  atmosphere.  It  is  electric  with  intention. 
Numbers  of  our  girls  are  growing  indifferent  to  mar 
riage  and  are  harder  to  please  with  husbands  than 
ever.  The  age  when  girls  marry  is  ever  pushing 
farther  on.  Why,  my  mother  was  a  bride  at  eighteen, 
and  at  twenty-four  her  contemporaries  if  unmarried 
were  spinsters.  You  and  I  are  spinsters,  but  we  don't 
mind.  Our  predecessors  did.  They  were  secretly 
ashamed  to  be  called  old  maids.  And  the  young 
wives  had  so  many  babies.  Now  one  child  or  at  most 
two  are  enough.  If  one  have  four  or  five  it  is  an 
amazement  in  her  circle.  The  royal  families  of  Eu 
rope  and  the  people  on  the  east  side  of  New  York  and 
the  south  side  of  Chicago,  have  crowds  of  little  ones, 
but  ordinary,  comfortable,  middle  class  Americans  do 
not,  nor  is  childlessness  pitied  any  longer.  I  often 
fear  that  college  life  for  women  has  its  seamy  side." 

Miss  Prescott  was  silent.  She  saw  another  phase 
of  the  question  and  presently  presented  it. 

The  two  ladies  discussed  the  problem  awhile,  Miss 
Prescott  holding  that  the  gains  of  a  liberal  education 
more  than  balanced  the  losses;  though  in  individual 
cases  there  might  be  failure,  on  the  whole,  she 
thought  women  were  broader,  better  fitted  for  home 


96  JANET  WARD 

life  and  more  self-controlled,  than  before  they  had  so 
extended  an  intellectual  discipline.  Miss  Kenyon, 
who  dearly  loved  an  argument  for  its  own  sake, 
somewhat  whimsically  maintained  the  opposite  side, 
until  a  warning  bell  brought  their  interview  to  a 
close. 

"  My  belief  is,"  said  Miss  Kenyon  as  they  sepa 
rated,  "that  we  are  still  in  the  phase  of  ferment  and 
that  another  decade  or  two  will  bring  great  changes 
for  the  better.  When  I  was  a  student,  I  won't  say 
how  long  ago,  but  as  the  daughters  of  my  old  class 
mates  will  be  graduated  this  summer,  you  may 
fancy  it  as  a  good  bit  out  of  a  lifetime,  the  college 
girl  was  very  self-conscious.  There  were  not  so 
many  of  her:  she  was  pointed  out  as  a  young 
woman  of  advanced  ideas;  she  understood  that  she 
was  doing  something  rather  conspicuous  and  am 
bitious.  Some  people  called  her  mannish  because  she 
timidly  ventured  into  the  realm  of  athletics  and  at  the 
same  time  studied  Greek.  She  knocked  in  vain  at 
the  doors  of  European  universities.  Berlin  professors 
refused  to  consider  her  applications  for  entrance  on 
their  lectures.  All  that  has  passed  or  is  passing! 
There's  that  bell  again.  Good-bye,  Miss  Prescott." 


VII 
IN  A  TENNESSEE  MANSE 


mother  dear,  and  see  how  you  like 
the  effect." 

"Yes,  my  child,  in  a  minute.  I  can't 
leave  this  bread  till  it's  done.  One  of  these  days, 
Chloe  will  be  able  to  make  the  bread,  and  then  I'll  be 
freer." 

Black  Chloe  giggled,  and  said,  "  Yas'm."  Hereto 
fore  Chloe's  efforts  at  cooking  had  resulted  so  badly, 
that  Mrs.  Ward  preferred  doing  the  work  herself,  to 
having  good  material  spoiled.  Chloe  was  much  better 
than  nobody,  and  Janet  had  vague  ideas  of  training 
her  into  a  perfect  handmaid,  but  thus  far  they  had 
not  been  transmuted  into  the  practical.  Janet  and  her 
brothers  were  fixing  up  a  room  for  her  at  the  top 
of  the  house,  a  regular  sky  parlor.  They  had  painted 
it,  papered  the  walls,  and  made  it  clean  and  whole 
some  with  the  eight  windows  open  to  the  fresh 
mountain  winds.  A  few  shelves  had  been  put  up 
and  here  were  the  girl's  school  books,  her  copy  of 
Stevenson's  Child's  Garden  of  Verse  and  Virginibus 
Puerisque,  her  Browning  and  Tennyson,  her  Virgil 
and  Homer.  A  low  white  bed,  curtains  of  sheer 
muslin  looped  with  blue,  and  a  blue  Japanese  rug  on 
the  floor,  gave  the  room  something  of  the  air  that 
Janet's  old  chamber  at  Springdale  had  worn.  The 
mother  climbed  the  steep  little  stair,  and  looked  pale 

97 


98  JANET  WARD 

as  she  sat  down  in  Janet's  low  rocker.  Instantly 
Janet  was  at  her  side,  anxious  and  tender. 

"  Dear  mother,  does  that  little  stairway  tire  you  so 
much  ?  I  am  sorry,  mother,  you  are  working  beyond 
your  strength.  I'll  take  the  reins  for  awhile.  Do  let 
me." 

"  If  you  do  the  housekeeping,  Janet,  you'll  have  no 
time  to  write  or  read  or  keep  on  with  your  studies  as 
you've  been  planning.  As  Chloe  says,  there's  a  heap 
to  do  in  this  family." 

"Never  mind,  I'll  do  it.  You  must  rest.  We'll 
begin  this  very  day.  Now,  mother,  lie  down  on  my 
divan  and  let  me  cover  you  up.  You  take  a  nap. 
I'll  get  the  dinner.  You  needn't  worry.  I  know 
how." 

"To  be  sure  she  does,"  said  Mr.  Ward,  who  had 
followed  in  the  wake  of  his  wife  and  was  standing 
in  the  doorway.  "Run  down,  Janet,  and  entertain 
that  good  lady  who  is  stopping  at  the  gate,  until  I 
come.  Tell  her  your  mother's  engaged  just  now." 

"Not  for  the  world,  Janet.  She  wouldn't  under 
stand,"  cried  the  mother. 

"I'll  manage  it,  dear." 

The  daughter  of  the  manse  felt  her  foot  once  more 
on  her  native  heath.  Truth  to  tell,  since  she  had 
settled  down  at  home,  college  and  its  absorbing 
routine  in  the  background,  Janet  had  not  been  alto 
gether  contented.  Everybody  knows  the  flat  taste 
'of  a  life  that  is  without  the  savor  of  congenial  occu 
pation.  Few  young  women  graduating  from  college 
are  able  to  go  on  alone  at  home  with  the  work  they 
found  so  easy  when  it  was  done  under  the  daily 
pressure  of  recitations  and  lectures,  and  in  the  com- 


IN  A  TENNESSEE  MANSE    99 

pany  of  others  equally  interested.  The  life  that  has 
no  flavor,  which  of  us  cannot  recall  it,  which  of  us 
has  not  had  some  acquaintance  with  its  dullness? 
Mr.  Ward  had  been  quick  to  note  that  Janet  chafed 
under  the  inaction  of  her  home  life,  and  that  she 
would  not  long  be  able  to  endure  it.  The  needle 
work  of  which  she  used  to  be  fond,  did  not  please 
her,  now,  and  she  found  her  chief  distraction  in 
sending  off  endless  letters  to  her  old  schoolmates, 
and  in  reading  the  new  books  that  from  time  to  time 
came  to  her  by  mail  from  Elizabeth  Evans.  Janet 
was  the  victim  of  reaction.  Her  father  recognized 
the  symptoms. 

"You  couldn't  do  a  better  thing  for  her,  dearest," 
he  said,  "than  to  let  Janet  nurse  you  up  and  relieve 
you  for  awhile.  I  have  an  idea.  Give  her  full 
swing,  and  when  you  feel  a  little  stronger,  go  to 
Philadelphia  and  pay  one  of  the  aunties  a  visit." 

"David!  how  could  I  be  spared?" 

"Of  course  you'll  be  missed,  but  I'm  going  to 
spare  you  this  year,  and  lift  the  heft  of  the  load  my 
self.  When  you  come  back,  well  and  cheery,  and 
your  old  self,  then  our  girlie  may  make  plans." 

The  wife's  eyes  filled  with  tears.  She  had  been 
battling  her  old  demon  till  she  was  exhausted.  She 
did  need  change.  She  was  almost  beaten  down. 
And  her  husband  was  not  blind.  He  prized  her  too 
much  to  let  her  drift  out  so  far  on  the  outward  wave 
of  illness,  physical  and  mental,  that  he  could  never 
call  her  back. 

"You  take  things  easy,"  he  said,  "I'll  put  this 
screen  between  your  eyes  and  the  light.  Sleep 
awhile,  and  when  you  awaken,  read  this  little  story 


ioo          JANET: 

book,  if  you  want  to.  I'll  hurry  down  now  and  help 
Janet  with  old  Mrs.  Grimsteed." 

The  mother  was  waited  upon  most  lovingly  that 
day.  Janet's  room  was  in  itself  a  change  for  her,  and 
when  luncheon  was  ready,  her  husband  brought  it 
up,  arranged  on  a  tray,  with  a  delicate  daintiness  that 
coaxed  her  to  try  the  food;  she  had  lately  had  no 
appetite. 

On  Janet's  part,  when  she  had  housework  to  do, 
she  discovered  that  it  was  exacting.  Her  young 
strength  should  have  made  light  of  it,  but  her  feet 
ached  with  standing  and  her  back  with  bending,  be 
fore  the  day  was  done.  Chloe  could  fetch  and  carry, 
but  she  was  clumsy  and  irresponsible,  and  sorely 
taxed  Janet's  patience.  Late  in  the  afternoon,  her 
father  urged  her  to  go  with  him  up  the  mountain  a 
piece,  and  she  felt  almost  too  weary  to  say  yes,  but 
when  had  she  denied  dad;  she  went. 

They  seated  themselves  on  the  green  grass  midway 
up  a  hillside,  and  Mr.  Ward  pointed  to  a  cabin  a 
little  farther  on. 

"There  is  a  woman  in  there,  Janet,  who  needs 
your  friendship.  She  is  standing  in  the  doorway 
now.  Mrs.  Nelson,  Tim  Nelson's  wife.  In  the 
whole  world,  daughter  dear,  there's  not  another 
woman  I'm  so  sorry  for." 

Janet  saw  outlined  against  the  evening  sky,  a 
picture  she  never  forgot.  Mrs.  Nelson,  tall,  statu 
esque  in  her  blue  cotton  gown,  that  hung  in  straight 
folds  to  her  feet,  held  in  her  arms  a  child  two  years 
old.  The  pose,  the  motherliness  and  the  grace,  might 
have  made  her  a  model  for  a  Madonna.  She  stood 
in  her  door,  her  whole  figure  queenly,  and  in  no  line 


IN  A  TENNESSEE  MANSE     101 

of  it  was  there  as  yet,  the  droop  and  depression  too 
often  seen  in  the  mountain  women  after  marriage 
and  child-birth.  A  man  came  out  of  the  cabin 
roughly  elbowing  his  wife  aside;  the  child  held  out 
dimpled  arms  calling  "Popsie,  Popsie,"  but  the 
father  took  no  notice.  Through  the  clear  silence  of 
the  evening,  sounds  carried  far.  Mr.  Ward  and  Janet 
felt  themselves  eavesdroppers,  but  they  could  not 
move  without  being  seen,  and  they  did  not  care  to 
be  revealed  after  they  heard  what  followed. 

"  Tim  dear,  won't  you  bring  me  a  bucket  of  water 
from  the  spring  before  you  go,  please  dear?"  The 
wife  spoke  humbly,  pleadingly.  She  put  down  the 
child,  and  handed  the  man  a  pail.  The  child  toddled 
along,  and  plucked  at  its  father's  coat.  The  man 
lifted  it,  tossed  it  up,  kissed  it. 

"At  any  rate,  Tim  cares  for  his  boy,"  said  Mr. 
Ward,  with  a  sigh.  "  It's  the  only  sign  of  humanity 
I've  ever  seen  in  that  miserable  wretch." 

"  He's  not  ill-looking,  dad!  "  They  both  spoke  al 
most  in  whispers. 

"  A  fine  animal,  Janet,  but  brutal.  You're  not  near 
enough  to  see,  but  that  jaw  is  cruel,  and  the  eyes  are 
too  close  together.  What  she  ever  saw  in  him, 
heaven  only  knows." 

"Tim,"  called  the  wife,  "I  am  not  really  wel^ 
dear;  please  don't  stay  long  and  please  bring  me  the 
water.  Won't  you,  honey  ?  " 

"Bring  it  yourself,  Belle,  and  don't  ask  me  to  tote 
buckets  up  hill.  What  do  you  take  me  for  ?  You 
seem  to  think  I've  nothing  to  do  but  dance  round  and 
wait  on  a  lazy  good-for-nothing  woman  that  spends 
her  time  reading  books  and  crying  in  the  corner. 


102  JANET  WARD 

I've  spoiled  you  enough.  I'll  come  back  when  I'm 
ready.  See  that  you  take  good  care  of  the  kid, 
Belle.  I'll  kick  the  bucket  down  hill  for  you.  So 
long." 

Suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  he  lifted  his  heavy 
boot  and  gave  the  pail  a  kick.  It  went  flying  down 
hill.  The  fellow  slouched  away  past  the  minister 
and  his  daughter,  whom  he  did  not  perceive  in  the 
dimming  shadows  of  the  wood  path. 

"  My  hands  ache  to  thrash  that  man  as  he  de 
serves,"  said  Mr.  Ward.  "The  big  cowardly  brute; 
and  that  woman's  tied  to  him  for  life.  Oh,  what 
fools  girls  sometimes  are!  Poor  Belle  Nelson.  Tim's 
been  drinking  enough  to  make  him  ugly.  He  has 
periodical  sprees  when  he's  as  dangerous  as  a  mad 
bull.  In  between,  for  a  month  or  two,  he's  not  so 
ferocious  as  to-night,  but  he's  always  a  booby  and  a 
boor.  I've  heard  that  he  ill-reats  his  wife,  and  I'm 
sure  it's  true." 

Janet  looked  sorrowfully  at  the  cabin.  Mrs.  Nel 
son  had  gone  in  and  shut  the  door.  Presently,  she 
came  out,  walked  wearily  down  the  hill  and  was 
evidently  going  for  the  pail  of  water  she  needed. 
Mr.  Ward  was  on  his  feet  in  an  instant.  Janet  di 
vined  his  intention  and  laid  an  arresting  hand  on  his 
arm. 

"No,  daddy,  you  mustn't  go  for  it.  She'd  know 
that  we  had  seen  and  heard  too  much.  It  would 
mortify  her  dreadfully.  We  must  slip  away  home 
while  she  is  out  of  sight  round  the  shoulder  of  the 
hill." 

"  She  has  a  story,  dad  ?  "  Janet  asked  the  question 
later.  Her  father  mused  awhile  and  then  said, 


IN  A  TENNESSEE  MANSE    103 

"Yes,  dear,  a  very  pitiful  story.  She's  a  well 
born,  well-bred,  well-educated  woman,  a  college 
graduate,  and  a  girl  related  by  kinship  to  half  the 
finest  people  in  southern  Tennessee.  And  she's 
mated  with  a  clown,  and  worse,  with  a  drunkard." 

"  What  was  her  name  before  she  married?" 

"Violet  Belle  Turner." 

"Any  relation  to  Bishop  Turner?" 

"His  own  niece,  dear." 

"  Can  her  people  do  nothing  for  her  ?" 

"They  have  cast  her  off.  But  they  could  do  little 
for  her  after  she  had  married  Timothy  Nelson.  There 
was  little  left  to  do,  precious  little." 

"  How  did  it  all  happen,  daddy  ?" 

"Well,  the  story's  not  a  brief  one.  But  I  can  tell 
it  briefly.  Belle  Turner  came  back  from  college  with 
her  head  full  of  half  digested  socialistic  ideas,  and 
her  heart  estranged  from  God.  Then  she  found 
home  rather  uninteresting,  and  she  did  not  care  for 
society,  though  her  birth  and  her  beauty  entitled  her 
to  enter  it  and  shine  in  any  company.  Her  father 
had  some  work  to  be  done  around  the  place,  and  em 
ployed  a  young  man  from  the  mountains  as  gardener. 
The  youth  was  big  boned,  strong,  handsome,  carried 
himself  rather  well,  and  was  then  deferential  enough 
in  his  manner  to  the  daughter  of  the  house.  They 
were  a  good  deal  together;  her  mother  was  dead, 
her  father  often  absent.  So  far  as  I  know  the  only 
person  who  was  worried  or  who  ventured  to  remon 
strate  with  Belle,  who  was  headstrong  and  high 
spirited,  was  her  old  colored  mammy.  She  was 
scornful  enough  of  the  pore  white  trash,  but  Belle 
either  laughed  at  or  flouted  her  entreaties. 


104  JANET  WARD 

"One  day  a  bombshell  exploded  at  Mr.  Seth 
Turner's  feet.  His  gardener,  cap  in  hand,  waited  on 
him  in  his  office,  and  asked  permission  to  marry  his 
daughter.  Naturally  it  was  scornfully  refused,  and 
the  man  ordered  off  the  place.  There  was  a  stormy 
scene  with  Belle,  and  she  was  sent  away  to  an  aunt's 
in  a  desolate  place,  forty  miles  away.  The  choice 
of  place  was  an  error  on  Mr.  Turner's  part.  The 
aunt  treated  Belle  as  if  she  were  in  disgrace,  kept  her, 
metaphorically,  on  bread  and  water.  Three  months 
afterwards,  in  the  dusk,  a  cart  drove  to  the  door,  the 
lover  appeared  with  a  license,  and  the  infatuated 
girl  went  away  with  him,  and  they  were  married. 
And  Belle's  been  living  on  bread  and  water  ever 
since." 

"I  shall  go  to  see  her,  father." 

"Do,  my  darling,  very  soon." 

Janet  made  an  early  opportunity  to  go  for  a  call  on 
Mrs.  Nelson.  Her  father  thought  it  would  be  a  good 
time  to  choose  when  Tim  was  absent,  and  he  ascer 
tained  that  a  hunting  expedition  had  taken  him  away 
for  some  days.  In  common  with  other  half-civilized 
people,  Tim  was  always  ready  for  an  excursion 
which  promised  him  personal  pleasure;  it  is  only  the 
man  in  a  high  state  of  civilization  who  cares  for 
others'  pleasure  than  his  own.  When  he  set  off  the 
baby  was  ailing,  but  though  he  professed  great  fond 
ness  for  the  "  kid,"  the  father  would  not  deny  him 
self  the  indulgence  of  a  tramp  in  the  woods,  and  a 
few  days'  camping  with  kindred  spirits  that  he  might 
help  his  wife  take  care  of  her  child. 

"You  must  think  of  some  reason  for  stopping  at 
Mrs.  Nelson's  cabin,  Janet,"  said  her  mother.  "She 


IN  A  TENNESSEE  MANSE     105 

must  not  suspect  that  you  are  inquisitive  nor  will 
she  accept  your  pity.  Can't  you  go  up  on  some 
housekeeping  errand  or  other,  and  casually  begin 
an  acquaintance  which  may  be  pleasant  for  you 
both?" 

While  Janet  was  trying  to  create  some  occasion  for 
a  neighborly  foray  on  Mrs.  Nelson's  premises,  Mr. 
Ward  hurried  in,  impetuous  as  ever.  He  made  short 
work  of  the  tactful  and  diplomatic  approaches  of  the 
ladies,  for  within  the  hour  he  had  met  his  friend,  the 
doctor,  and  had  learned  that  the  little  one  was  ill  with 
fever. 

"Belle  Nelson  ought  not  to  be  alone  on  the  moun 
tainside  with  a  delirious  child,  and  it  would  be  only 
sisterly,  dear,  for  you  to  go  right  in  and  help  her 
nurse  the  little  one.  You  wouldn't  be  knocked  up 
with  one  night's  watching,  would  you,  Janet  ?  " 

"No,  indeed."  Janet's  tone  was  cheerful,  and  she 
sprang  up  alert.  She  was  ready  to  go  that  instant. 
Mrs.  Ward  restrained  her. 

"  You  two  do  everything  in  such  dead  earnest,  and 
in  such  a  hurry,  I  can  never  get  used  to  it.  Janet,  I 
am  glad  to  let  you  go,  but  first  you  must  have  a  com 
fortable  hot  supper.  Then  take  off  your  tight  fitting 
gown  and  leave  your  corsets  at  home.  Carry  a  warm 
soft  dressing  sacque  with  you  and  your  slippers. 
Nights  grow  chilly  towards  morning.  Father  or 
Hughie  will  walk  through  the  clearing  with  you,  and 
you  are  not  to  come  home  until  broad  daylight. 
Mother  knows  best  about  such  things,  daughter." 

"  Here  I  am  leaving  you,  sweetness,  just  when  you 
need  me.  It  isn't  right." 

"  Yes  it  is.     You  go,  dear;  I've  had  a  splendid  rest 


io6  JANET  WARD 

to-day,  and  everybody'll  take  care  of  me,  but  that 
poor  soul  is  all  by  herself,  and  weighted  with  a  heavy 
heart  besides." 

Janet  never  forgot  the  picture  she  saw  when  she 
opened  the  cabin  door  and  walked  in  that  evening. 
The  mother  was  bending  over  her  child;  the  child 
was  in  a  stupor  from  which  he  awoke  with  starts 
and  wild  cries,  calling  in  heart  piercing  tones,  "Far 
to  go!  far  to  go!  far  to  go!"  Where  did  he  think 
he  must  go,  and  what  phantasy  whirled  through  his 
brain  ?  The  mother  had  little  skill  in  nursing,  and  she 
was  at  her  wit's  end.  She  seemed  not  at  all  surprised 
when  Janet  without  a  word  of  preface  came  to  her 
side  saying,  "This  child  must  have  a  cold  bath.  I 
will  give  him  one,  I  know  how." 

The  mother  glanced  up  and  saw  the  minister's 
daughter.  She  did  not  speak,  but  she  did  as  she  was 
told,  and  helped  Janet  wring  out  sheets  and  wrap  the 
hot  and  moaning  sufferer  in  their  cool  folds.  Again 
and  again  the  water  was  applied,  till  the  dry  skin 
grew  moist,  and  the  limbs  relaxed,  till  blessed  sleep 
came  to  the  child's  relief. 

"  He'll  be  easier  now.  Lie  down  yourself.  Here, 
let  me  put  this  pillow  under  your  head,  and  tuck  you 
under  the  quilt."  Janet  spoke  caressingly;  she  felt 
so  sorry  for  the  poor  tired  woman  with  the  pallid 
cheeks  and  the  eyes  so  shadowed  by  anxiety. 

"  I  am  all  right,  Miss  Ward.  You  must  not  worry 
about  me.  You  have  been  so  very  kind.  What 
should  Donald  and  I  have  done  without  you?  My 
husband  is  away,  and  it  is  lonesome  here;  there  are 
no  near  neighbors." 

"  Unless  you  count  us,  as  I  hope  you  will.     You 


IN  A  TENNESSEE  MANSE    107 

know  what  the  Bible  says,  '  Better  is  a  neighbor  that 
is  near,  than  a  brother  that  is  far  off.'  " 

Even  as  she  spoke,  Janet  saw  the  other's  lids  droop 
from  fatigue,  and  against  her  will  she  lay  down  on 
the  side  of  the  bed.  Janet  shaded  the  lamp  that  its 
rays  might  not  fall  on  her  sleeping  face. 

Never  did  Janet  forget  that  vigil.  Save  for  the  wild 
cry  of  the  whip-poor-will  now  and  then  piercing  the 
stillness,  the  silence  of  the  night  was  unbroken. 
Darkness  enfolded  the  little  cabin  home,  shadows 
wrapping  it  round  as  they  wrap  the  lair  and  the  nest. 
The  girl  went  to  the  door  and  drew  in  deep  breaths 
of  the  fresh  spicy  air  scented  with  the  sweetness  of 
the  forest.  Overhead  were  the  stars.  Beneath  her, 
half  a  mile  away,  was  the  manse.  She  saw  a  light 
gleaming  faintly  through  the  trees,  and  knew  that 
her  father  was  still  in  his  study  reading  and  praying. 

She  closed  the  door  and  sat  down  in  a  splint  bot 
tomed  chair  besides  the  hearth,  where  glowed  the 
embers  of  a  fire.  The  room  was  full  of  contrasts. 
Across  the  ceiling  overhead  were  strings  of  red 
peppers,  and  a  ham  hung  from  a  nail.  The  household 
utensils,  spoons,  pails,  and  tubs,  were  grouped  in  a 
corner,  and  a  dishpan  burnished  brightly,  shone  like 
a  shield  against  the  wall.  But  the  feature  that 
drew  and  kept  Janet's  attention  was  strikingly 
different  from  these  homely  and  familiar  objects. 
When  Mrs.  Nelson  had  left  her  home,  her  father 
had  packed  up  and  sent  her  the  pictures  and 
books  which  were  hers,  in  her  girlhood's  home. 
On  one  side  of  the  room  were  pictures  that  be 
tokened  travel  and  luxury.  A  Madonna  of  Raphael 
smiled  down  on  the  poor  mother  and  child  below 


io8  JANET  WARD 

her  serene  face,  and  there  were  shelves  filled 
with  poetry  and  romance.  Janet  tiptoed  over  to 
read  their  titles  in  the  obscurity  of  the  shaded  lamp, 
and  the  books  were  like  her  own,  they  were  the 
open  sesame  to  a  wider  world  than  that  which 
hemmed  in  the  untutored  and  the  ignorant.  She  who 
possessed  these  was  mistress  of  a  treasure  store  of 
which  drudgery  could  not  rob  her,  nor  misery  wholly 
mar. 

The  hours  wore  slowly  away.  By  and  by  the 
dawn  quickened  in  the  East.  The  sun  rose  grandly 
over  the  hills.  Still  the  mother  and  her  boy  rested 
quietly,  and  Janet,  looking  at  them  with  loving  eyes, 
thanked  God  for  a  new  day. 


K//7 
BELLE  NELSON'S  STORY 

IT  was  not  long  before  the  little  mother  was 
comfortably  fitted  out  for  her  journey,  and 
started  off;  her  husband  going  with  her  part  of 
the  way.  In  the  meantime,  Janet  continued  her  visits 
to  the  Nelsons,  and  before  long  had  found  much 
to  love  in  Belle.  They  were  nearly  of  an  age,  Mrs. 
Nelson  having  completed  her  school  course  when 
Janet  was  a  freshman,  and  as  Tim's  absences  grew 
longer  and  more  frequent,  there  was  plenty  of  oppor 
tunity  for  Janet  to  relieve  the  loneliness  of  the  young 
wife.  The  child  soon  recovered,  and  his  sturdy  little 
frame  was  no  worse  for  his  attack,  but  Janet  was 
pained  to  see  the  difficulties  under  which  his  mother 
labored  in  trying  to  bring  him  up.  When  Belle  in 
sisted  on  politeness  and  taught  him  to  behave  as  a 
well-bred  child  should,  his  father  was  ready  with  a 
sneer,  and  openly  declared  that  he  would  not  have 
the  kid  made  to  put  on  foolish  airs.  Belle  bore 
everything  with  great  patience,  but  she  flamed  up 
one  day  when,  in  Janet's  presence  the  father  tried  to 
teach  his  boy  a  profane  word.  Janet  endeavored  to 
so  time  her  calls  that  she  should  not  encounter  Tim, 
but  this  could  not  always  be  managed.  He  actually 
took  a  perverse  pleasure  in  humiliating  his  wife  be 
fore  people.  A  hard,  coarse  man,  he  liked  to  break 

109 


no  JANET  WARD 

her  pride,  and  it  gave  him  satisfaction  to  wound  her 
when  there  was  a  spectator  as  on  this  occasion. 

"Donald  must  not  say  that,  Tim!"  Belle  faced 
him,  speaking  firmly. 

"  Say  it,  boy !    Say  it  for  pappy !  " 

The  father  had  the  little  fellow  on  his  knee. 
"  Pappy'll  give  you  a  new  knife,  if  you  say  it  right 
out.  You'll  never  be  a  man  'less  you  know  some 
cuss-words!  Say  what  I  tell  you,  Donald!  " 

"Donald!"  The  mother  stretched  out  her  arms. 
"Donald,  mother  says  no.  God  won't  be  pleased, 
Donald!  Come  right  to  mother." 

Tears  trembled  in  the  boy's  blue  eyes.  He  wanted 
the  knife.  Baby  as  he  was,  the  spirit  of  a  man  was 
in  him,  and  never  yet  was  a  man  that  didn't  desire 
a  weapon.  But  his  mother's  rule  was  the  stronger. 
He  struggled  down  from  his  father's  lap,  and  ran  to 
his  mother,  hiding  his  face  in  the  folds  of  her  skirt. 

"  Never  mind,  young  man !  "  cried  Tim.  "  When 
you're  bigger,  I'll  whip  you  good,  if  you  don't  mind 
me.  I've  a  mind  to  do  it  now! " 

At  this,  Belle's  self-control  gave  way. 

"Tim  Nelson,"  she  cried,  "you've  gone  far 
enough.  Neither  now,  nor  ever  will  you  lay  a  finger 
on  this  child  to  make  him  do  wrong.  God  will 
surely  punish  you  for  this  badness." 

Janet  had  not  meant  to  be  a  witness  to  this  scene. 
She  had  come  over  to  learn  from  Belle  the  secret  of  a 
certain  dish,  and  had  not  known  how  to  get  away. 
Her  horrified  countenance  suddenly  impressed  Tim, 
as  his  wife's  remonstrance  had  no  power  to  do,  and 
he  reached  for  his  hat,  and  stepped  to  the  door,  only 
to  be  surprised  there  by  a  much  more  disconcerting 


BELLE  NELSON'S  STORT  ill 

presence,  that  of  his  mother.  "Thank  heaven!" 
whispered  Belle  fervently. 

If  there  was  in  the  wide  world  a  person  of  whom 
Tim  stood  in  awe,  it  was  she  who  now  blocked  his 
passage  from  the  house.  She  was  a  tall  woman, 
dark-eyed  and  sombre,  with  the  melancholy  of  the 
mountains  in  her  weather-beaten  face.  Her  sunbon- 
net  fell  back  from  her  gray  hair;  her  cotton  gown 
was  short,  revealing  heavy  shoes,  but  there  was  dig 
nity  and  courage  in  every  line  of  her  figure. 

"  Mornin',  Tim,"  she  said  shortly.  "  Howdy,  Belle, 
howdy,  Miss  Ward.  I've  come  to  stay  a  spell,  any 
how  till  after  Sunday.  I'm  starving  for  a  sermon, 
and  they  tell  me  Parson  Ward  does  know  how  to 
preach  the  straight  old  gospel.  Heard  him  yet, 
Tim?" 

"No,  mother,  I  don't  trouble  preachers  much." 

"  More  shame  to  you!     But  you've  been,  Belle  ?  " 

"  No,  mother,  I  can't  go  alone!  " 

"Well,  honey,  you  can  go  with  me,  I'm  sure!  Tim, 
that  place  out  there  needs  diggin'  up,  and  you  better 
get  to  work  quick!  Leave  your  gun  back  in  the 
house,  son,  you  don't  need  to  hunt  all  the  time,  and 
your  garden  is  in  bad  shape.  Begin  fixing  it,  some 
how,  for  next  year." 

Tim  obeyed.  From  childhood  he  had  obeyed  this 
imperious  woman,  and  he  did  so  still. 

From  her  pocket  old  Mrs.  Nelson  took  a  short, 
black  clay  pipe,  and  filled  it  with  tobacco;  lighting  it 
and  sitting  down  by  the  stove,  she  puffed  away  with 
great  enjoyment.  Presently,  she  said, 

"  Belle,  did  you  know  that  folks  from  down  below 
are  staying  at  the  inn  ?  They've  got  one  of  those 


H2  JANET  WARD 

stages  they  call  a  tally-ho,  and  are  drivin'  all  around 
the  country.  Any  day  they  may  pass  here,  an'  stop. 
I  reckon  your  cousins  from  home  are  with  the  party, 
from  something  my  old  man  heerd  last  market  day!  " 

Belle's  face  did  not  alter  a  line. 

"  They  won't  stop  here,  mother." 

"  They  might,  Miss  Alice  Kensett  is  with  them. 
So  father  heard.  And  she'd  stop,  wouldn't  she  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  hope  not.     I  hope  not." 

Alice  Kensett  had  been  Belle's  most  intimate  friend 
and  chum  in  the  days  when  she  was  in  her  girlish 
place  of  queenly  ease  and  state. 

"  And  Theodore  Fuller,  and  Elmer  Yancey,  and  a 
whole  lot  of  the  ones  you  used  to  know." 

"They're  nothing  to  me  now,  mother.  Nothing! 
I  have  my  husband  and  my  boy,  and  the  baby  that  is 
coming.  My  world  is  here." 

"  You're  a  good  woman,  Belle,  and  you're  tied  fast 
to  a  shiftless,  ornery,  ill-to-do  man,  that's  been  a  trial 
ever  since  he  was  born.  I  that  ought  to  know  best, 
say  it.  Pore  Tim  never  had  anything  but  good  looks 
to  commend  him.  He  takes  after  the  Indian  streak 
that  is  in  the  family,  the  only  one  that  does.  Well, 
I  didn't  mean  to  say  that  before  a  stranger." 

"You  didn't,  mother.  I'd  have  stopped  you. 
Miss  Janet  slipped  away  out  of  the  back  door,  a  few 
minutes  ago,  and  she's  half  way  home  how.  Mother, 
she's  a  dear  comforter,  that  girl." 

"She  looks  sort  of  peart,  like  a  flower  in  the 
hedge.  Well,  Belle  Nelson,  I'm  here  now.  You  go 
away  by  yourself  as  you  like  to,  and  walk  in  the 
woods,  and  I'll  look  after  Tim  and  the  baby,  and  get 
the  dinner.  You  go  and  rest  a  spell." 


BELLE  NELSON'S  SrORT  113 

Belle  hesitated,  but  she  was  over-tired,  and  she 
could  rely  on  the  friendship  of  this  big-hearted 
mother-in-law  who  had  stalked  with  her  long,  mascu 
line  tread,  three  miles  over  the  mountain  to  give  her 
a  lift.  She  took  the  path  down  the  hill,  and  reached 
the  manse  soon  after  Janet.  Truth  to  tell,  she  did 
not  care  to  encounter  the  merry  party  of  her  old 
friends  and  comrades  who  were  taking  a  drive,  stop 
ping  here  and  there  at  a  country  hotel,  and  junketing 
as  she  had  once  done,  oh!  ages  and  ages  ago,  it 
seemed,  with  many  of  the  same  party.  Alice  Ken- 
sett  had  been  her  roommate  at  school,  was  still  her 
defender  and  correspondent,  but  had  not  had  a 
glimpse  of  her  home.  Elmer  Yancey  had  wanted  to 
marry  her,  and  Theodore  Fuller  was  her  brother 
Jack's  chum  at  college.  Elmer  was  a  prosperous 
banker.  Alice  was  his  financee;  Theodore  was 
studying  for  the  ministry.  They  all  belonged  in  a 
sphere  from  which  Belle  Nelson  had  forever  exiled 
herself,  by  an  act  of  folly  and  rashness,  and  of  con 
tempt  for  filial  authority.  Against  her  will,  Tenny 
son's  bitter  lines  repeated  themselves  in  the  back  of 
her  mind, 

"  Yet  it  shall  be,  thou  shall  lower  to  his  level  day  by  day. 
What  is  fine  within  thee  growing  coarse  to  sympathize  with  clay. 
As  the  husband  is,  the  wife  is,  thou  art  mated  with  a  clown. 
And  the  grossness  of  his  nature,  will  have  weight  to  drag  thee 
down." 

She  loathed  herself  for  her  disloyalty,  but  when 
disillusion  comes,  and  the  eyes  are  unsealed,  and  a 
woman  finds  out  that  what  she  adored  has  not  only 
degenerated,  but  never  existed,  there  waits  for  her  a 


ii4  JANEr  WARD 

dreary  time  of  anguish.  She  has  sold  her  birthright, 
and  there  remains  for  her  henceforth  no  place  for  return 
and  reinstatement;  repentance  of  the  bitterest,  indeed, 
she  may  know.  To  one  pillar  Belle  clung  with  both 
hands,  the  pillar  of  fidelity.  No  vow  of  hers  should 
be  broken.  She  might  die,  but  she  would  not  be 
untrue.  There  was  good  stuff  in  Belle. 

Down  the  steep  pathway  she  wandered,  turning 
aside  into  a  certain  nook  that  had  become  to  her  as 
her  closet  into  which  she  might  enter,  and  where 
God  shut  the  door.  She  passed  around  behind  a 
great  branching  oak,  and  there  was  a  wide  cleared 
space  rimmed  about  with  giant  trees;  the  grass  was 
soft  as  turf,  her  foot  sunk  into  its  velvet  cushiony 
carpet.  No  human  eye  could  see  her  there.  No  hu 
man  ear  hear  her.  She  was  all  by  herself.  She  knelt 
down,  pressed  her  head  against  the  rough  bark  of  a 
tree,  and  her  breast  shaken  with  sobs,  poured  out  her 
soul  in  half  uttered  words.  God  knew  how  tired  she 
was;  God  knew  how  desperate;  God  knew  how 
helpless.  But  for  Donald's  sake,  she  would  gladly 
have  laid  down  life  and  its  load.  But,  she  had  him, 
and  even  as  she  knelt,  the  motherhood  in  her  was 
thrilled  by  the  stir  within  her  of  the  unborn  child, 
Tim's  child  and  hers!  Suddenly  there  swept  across 
her  nature,  as  if  a  flood  had  come  from  an  unknown 
sea,  a  new  feeling,  a  diviner  emotion  than  Belle 
Nelson  had  known  before.  Up  to  this  hour  self-pity 
had  been  predominant  in  her  mind.  Whence  it 
came,  she  knew  not;  this  breath  of  something 
loftier,  tenderer  and  more  compassionate,  but  she 
rose  from  her  prayer,  comforted,  and  sorry  for  Tim! 
Sorry  for  her  husband !  With  a  flash  of  the  clearest 


BELLE  NELSON'S  SrORT  115 

insight  she  perceived  that  if  she  were  out  of  her  right 
orbit,  so  was  he.  "  It  is  not  so  much  he  who  drags 
me  down,  as  I,  that  cannot  raise  him  up.  Oh! 
Christ,  if  Thou  could'st!  Is  there  anything  too  hard 
for  Thee?  I  am  a  sinful  woman,  O  Lord,"  she  spoke 
audibly  though  not  much  above  a  whisper,  as  she 
walked  on  beneath  the  trees,  strangely  calmed  and 
comforted.  "I  am  a  sinful  woman,  for  I  have  been 
proud  and  rebellious  against  Thee,  and  I  have  de 
spised  my  husband.  God  forgive  me,  God  help 
me ! "  So  speaking  aloud  to  God,  she  went  on,  till  she 
reached  the  little  vine-covered  porch  of  the  manse. 
Janet  came  to  meet  her,  but  Belle  preoccupied 
scarcely  returned  the  delighted  affectionate  greeting. 

"  I  have  not  come  to  see  you,  dear.  Is  the  minister 
at  home  ?  I  want  to  talk  with  him." 
"Yes,  father  is  in  his  study!" 
"  Please,  Janet,  take  me  to  your  father." 
The  Protestant  minister  has  no  confessional,  but 
there  is  not  a  faithful  man  of  God  in  all  its  borders, 
who  does  not  sometimes  listen  to  the  pent-up  sad 
ness  of  half-broken  hearts,  when  that  sadness  can 
no  longer  be  confined.  David  Ward  was  no  novice 
in  the  task  of  advising  and  consoling,  teaching  and 
strengthening  those  who  were  ready  to  perish.  To 
Belle  Nelson  that  day  he  unfolded,  as  she  had  never 
before  known  it,  the  infinite  grace,  the  unfathomed 
mercy  of  Him  who  trod  the  way  to  Golgotha  bearing 
His  cross,  and  who  died  on  that  cross  for  man's 
redemption.  He  read  to  her  from  the  Master's  words 
of  heavenly  love,  he  commended  her  to  that  Master, 
as  a  man  talks  with  his  friend,  and  when  she  left  the 
study,  her  face  was  transfigured.  Janet  looked  at 


ii6  JANET  WARD 

her  in  amazement.  Belle  had  fought  a  good  fight 
that  day,  and  had  gained  the  victory.  Her  face  was 
illumined  with  a  very  glory  of  peace,  and  she  was 
going  home  another  than  the  woman  who  had  left  it 
an  hour  ago,  sorely  beaten  and  bent  downward  with 
the  tempests  of  life.  I  do  not  doubt  myself,  that  as 
she  struggled  to  find  out  God  under  the  trees,  in  the 
little  sanctuary  they  made  for  her,  that  one  like  unto 
the  Son  of  Man,  had  seen  her,  and  had  gently  led 
her  into  a  larger  place  of  freedom  and  blessing  than 
she  could  have  found  in  any  other  way  than  that  in 
which  she  was  walking  then.  I  am  sure  there  was 
joy  in  heaven  that  day,  when  the  Shepherd  told  the 
angels,  "I  have  found  My  sheep,  that  was  lost." 

"Come  with  me  a  little  piece  up  the  road,  dear," 
said  Belle,  and  Janet  answered  willingly,  "I'll  go  as 
far  as  the  turn  near  the  post-office;  we  ought  to  be 
hearing  from  mother  before  long." 

They  said  very  little.  Belle  was  in  a  mood  of  still 
ness,  but  she  put  out  her  hand,  hardened  and  callous 
with  rough  drudgery,  and  took  Janet's  softer  one  in 
hers.  She  said,  "Janet,  I  asked  you  to  come  because 
I  have  something  to  say  to  you.  I  have  not  been 
altogether  a  good  wife.  I  spoke  to  Tim  in  your 
hearing,  as  a  wife  should  not,  and  I  want  you  to 
pardon  me.  I  mean  to  do  better." 

"You  had  great  provocation."  Janet's  voice  was 
emphatic.  She  was  most  resentful  still  against  Tim; 
the  thought  in  her  heart  was,  "  If  she's  going  to  yield 
to  him,  to  concede  things,  to  let  him  trample  on  her, 
everything  will  be  at  an  end:  the  great  hulking  brute 
will  soon  use  up  every  particle  of  her  strength. 
Surely,"  thought  Janet,  her  mind  rushing  to  a  con- 


BELLE  NELSON'S  STORT  117 

elusion,  "  my  father  has  advised  nothing  like  that, 
surely  not." 

But  Belle  went  on,  in  low  tones,  "You  are  not 
married,  Janet,  and  maybe  you  haven't  yet  been  in 
love,  so  you  don't  know.  When  a  woman  loves, 
she  gives  all  she  has,  and  hopes  to  be;  when  she 
marries,  she  surrenders  every  bit  of  herself.  I  am 
Tim  Nelson's  wife.  I  must  try  to  lead  him  to  the 
One  who  has  just  this  very  day,  how,  I  don't  know, 
shown  Himself  to  me.  I  didn't  know  the  Lord  when 
I  left  home,  I  do  know  Him  now.  It's  a  miracle; 
I'm  going  to  love  Tim  through  everything,  from  this 
day.  I'm  going  to  help  Tim,  if  I  can." 

Into  Janet's  memory  came  an  old  world  song  of 
passion,  "Many  waters  cannot  quench  love,  neither 
can  the  floods  drown  it, "and  answering  that  with 
the  dulcet  sweetness  of  a  newer  lyrical  strain,  came 
this  triumphant  note,  "Love  suffereth  long,  and  is 
kind.  Love  never  faileth." 

They  had  arrived  at  the  bend  of  the  road.  They 
stood  there  a  moment,  and  on  the  south  wind  came 
the  notes  of  a  bugle.  Round  the  corner  swept  the 
tally-ho  with  its  laughing  freight  of  city  men  and 
women,  trim,  beautifully  apparelled,  glad  with  the 
gayety  of  the  road.  In  full  contrast  in  the  fore 
ground,  stood  Belle  and  Janet.  The  latter  in  shirt 
waist  and  golf  skirt,  Belle  in  her  blue  cotton  frock, 
with  a  silk  handkerchief  knotted  around  her  neck. 
Both  girls  were  bareheaded.  The  stage  stopped. 
The  men  sprang  down,  and  hats  in  hand,  came  to 
speak  to  Mrs.  Nelson. 

"Here,  Elmer,  help  me!  "  cried  a  clear  voice,  and 
with  an  "  I  beg  pardon,"  the  man  turned  and  lifted 


n8  JANET  WARD 

Alice  Kensett  to  the  ground.  She  flew  to  Belle  and 
threw  her  arms  around  her  neck.  Before  Janet  had 
time  to  feel  the  least  in  the  way,  Belle  disengaged  her 
self  from  Alice,  and  turning,  presented  the  party. 
Mrs.  Lorimer,  Miss  Kensett,  Mr.  Yancey,  Mr.  Thomas 
Fuller,  Mr.  Theodore  Fuller  were  introduced  to  Miss 
Ward.  The  latter  talked  a  few  moments  to  Janet, 
and  asked  if  in  a  day  or  two  he  might  pay  his  re 
spects  to  her  father.  "  My  old  professor  at  Princeton 
told  me  when  I  came  to  the  mountains  to  get  into 
touch  with  Mr.  Ward,"  he  explained,  "and  only 
yesterday  I  ascertained  where  he  was." 

The  little  episode  was  soon  over.  The  party 
mounted  to  their  places,  and  drove  on.  At  first  they 
were  silent,  but  Alice  broke  the  spell. 

"She  doesn't  look  wretched  after  all,  does  she, 
Aunt  Kitty?" 

"She  looks  royal  and  victorious,"  answered  Mrs. 
Lorimer. 

"But  she's  been  through  a  siege,  poor  girl,"  said 
Mr.  Tom  Fuller,  and  the  other  men  agreed  with  him. 

Belle  retraced  her  steps  to  the  cabin.  Her  little  lad 
was  watching  for  and  ran  to  meet  her.  Mother  was 
his  magnet.  Tim  slouching  as  usual,  was  sitting  on 
the  bench  by  the  door.  He  had  been  carrying  water 
up  the  hill  for  his  mother,  who  had  told  him  in  rather 
plain  terms,  what  she  thought  of  his  laziness  and  his 
general  short-comings.  Belle  saw  that  he  was  in  a 
sullen  mood,  but  somehow  she  was  not  afraid  of 
him,  nor  even  angered.  As  she  reached  the  bench, 
he  did  not  rise,  nor  offer  to  make  room  for  her  beside 
him,  but  she  brushed  his  hair  from  his  forehead  with 
a  caressing  touch,  and  stooping  down,  kissed  him. 


BELLE  NELSON'S  STORT  119 

"Move  a  little,  dear,"  she  said.  The  blood  flushed 
in  his  sallow  cheek,  for  the  unusual  kindness  melted 
him  and  broke  down  a  barrier  that  had  been  between 
husband  and  wife,  and  Tim  that  day  was  sober. 

"I  reckon  I'll  go  and  shave!  "  he  said,  awkwardly. 
"I'm  not  fit  for  you  to  kiss,  Dolly." 

Dolly  was  an  old  term  of  endearment,  not  often 
used  in  these  days.  The  mother  came  to  the  door, 
as  Tim  went  over  to  the  corner  where  his  razors  lay 
on  a  shelf. 

"You'll  have  to  hurry,  son,  dinner's  nearly  ready," 
she  said. 

On  the  stove,  the  coffee-pot  was  simmering. 
Soon,  the  mother  took  the  corn  bread  from  the  oven, 
and  dished  up  the  bacon  and  greens.  Then  the 
family  sat  down  to  dinner,  Donald  in  the  middle. 


IX 

A  PREACHING  SERVICE 

E  gets  at  the  elemental  things  here,  the 
primitive  things." 

David  Ward  was  having  a  chat  with 
the  doctor.  The  latter's  gray  horse  was  tethered  to 
the  fence. 

"  Regretting  you  came,  old  man  ?  " 

"Not  I.  But  I'm  realizing,  as  I  never  did  before, 
how  small  I  am,  and  how  little  1  can  do.  Here  one 
simply  leans  with  his  whole  weight  on  the  Holy 
Spirit.  There's  no  other  course.  And,  all  about, 
there  are  such  interesting  lives,  so  full  of  comedy  and 
tragedy,  so  rich  in  the  midst  of  poverty,  that  I  am 
amazed  at  the  little  I  knew  before  I  came." 

"  David,  my  opinion  is,  that  except  for  outside 
veneer,  when  you  get  under  the  surface,  people  are  a 
good  deal  the  same  everywhere.  I  hear  that  Belle 
Nelson's  going  to  let  you  hold  a  neighborhood  prayer 
meeting  in  her  house." 

"Yes:  to-morrow  evening." 

"Well,  you  take  it  coolly,  but  it's  as  if  Daniel  in 
the  lion's  den  had  invited  his  neighbors  to  step  in 
and  hold  a  meeting.  Tim  Nelson  is  the  last  man  in 
the  region  I'd  ever  have  expected  to  get  hold  of." 

"I  haven't  got  hold  of  him,  and  so  far  as  I  can 
see,  the  Lord  hasn't,  but  his  wife  has.  She  asked  his 
consent  I  suppose  and  he  gave  it,  and  furthermore, 


A  PREACHING  SERVICE    121 

I'm  told  he's  going  to  help  along  with  the  sing 
ing." 

"  And  that's  as  if  Nebuchadnezzar  had  said  he 
would  join  in  a  hymn,  when  the  brave  three  were  walk 
ing  round  in  the  midst  of  the  burning  fiery  furnace. 
But,  David,  there's  another  matter  I  want  to  speak 
of.  Who's  that  young  gentleman  coming  down  the 
road  with  Janet,  dressed  up  in  store  clothes  ?  " 

"That  young  man  is  one  Theodore  Fuller,  a 
licentiate  from  Princeton.  He's  going  to  help  me  at 
the  communion  next  Sabbath  morning. 

' '  Fuller !  Fuller !  Let  me  see, "  Doctor  Huntoon  was 
fond  of  genealogy,  "if  he's  one  of  the  New  York 
Fullers,  1  can  place  him.  His  people  came  originally 
from  Genesee,  an  uncle  settled  in  Tennessee,  an 
uncle,  I  mean,  of  this  young  man,  if  he's  the  fellow  I 
think  he  is.  How  came  he  here,  David?" 

"He's  spending  his  vacation  somewhere  in  this 
region  with  friends.  He's  at  Princeton  Seminary 
still.  But  he's  fallen  in  love  with  the  mountains,  as 
we  all  do;  and  wants  to  stay  longer  than  the  rest 
can.  Come  to  our  meeting  at  the  Nelsons',  my 
friend,  and  help  us;  Mr.  Fuller  promised  to  be  there, 
and  I  believe  we  may  depend  on  his  crowd.  They 
are  old  acquaintances  of  Mrs.  Nelson." 

"I'll  be  on  hand,  if  only  to  act  as  a  guard  in  case 
the  meeting  proves  too  much  for  Tim's  manners. 
Unless  somebody  is  ill  and  I  am  detained." 

As  the  doctor  sprang  to  the  saddle,  nimbly  for  a 
man  of  his  age  and  build  which  was  stocky  and  in 
dicated  weight,  Janet  waved  him  a  good-bye.  He 
soliloquized,  as  he  rode, 

"Nice  girl,    that,    and  just  the  one  to  captivate 


122  JANET  WARD 

Theodore  Fuller.  But,  if  I  know  her,  he'll  have  to 
court  my  young  lady.  She'll  not  be  one  to  haul 
down  her  flag  too  soon,  bless  her  heart."  The  doc 
tor  laughed  as  he  turned  in  the  saddle  and  watched 
Theodore  holding  open  the  gate  for  Janet. 

"I'm  an  old  match-maker,  but  there's  nothing  to 
compare  with  love  in  the  wide  world;  nothing, 
nothing."  And  he  chirrupped  to  Dandy,  too  sober 
paced  and  steady  for  his  youthful  name;  and  the  two 
fared  on  together  till  the  doctor  drew  rein  at  the 
door  of  a  patient. 

Neither  Tim  Nelson  nor  his  wife  had  suggested 
their  house  as  a  rendezvous  for  a  neighborhood  meet 
ing.  It  was  the  old  mother  who  had  thought  of  it, 
and  mentioned  the  matter  between  two  whiffs  of  her 
corncob  pipe.  Belle  assented  eagerly;  Tim  did  not 
forbid:  and  Mr.  Ward  was  asked  to  send  word  as  he 
could  around  the  district.  A  notice  was  tacked  on 
the  door  of  the  little  store  where  the  mail  was  sorted 
on  the  same  counter  at  which  the  neighbors  bought 
tobacco,  sugar,  and  tea;  and  also  on  the  door  of  the 
red  schoolhouse  to  which  the  children  thronged  with 
dinner  pails  in  hand. 

Incidents  were  so  few  in  the  countryside  that  any 
novelty  was  an  event.  Old  women,  musing  on  the 
extraordinary  fact  of  Tim's  allowing  a  preacher  in 
side  his  lot,  let  alone  his  house,  piously  hoped  that 
he  had  had  a  change  of  heart.  Girls  giggled  for 
pure  delight  in  being  alive,  as  girls  often  do;  and 
went  as  merrily  to  the  meeting  as  if  it  had  been  a 
supper  with  dancing  afterwards.  The  social  instinct 
is  keenly  awake  in  rural  communities,  while  at  the 
same  time  starved  because  there  is  no  outlet  for  it. 


A  PREACHING  SERVICE    123 

In  that  wild  land,  too,  united  with  much  ignorance 
and  no  little  superstition,  there  was  a  deep  vein  of 
reverence.  Men  whose  consciences  did  not  disturb 
them  at  all  when  the  affair  was  one  of  distilling 
illicit  whiskey,  and  eluding  the  revenue  officers,  men 
who  were  moonshiners  banded  together  by  solemn 
pledges  and  oaths,  men  who  cherished  lifelong 
feuds,  and  warned  their  enemies  that  if  they  ven 
tured  one  inch  across  a  certain  indicated  line,  they 
were  dead  men,  were  devout  and  to  some  extent 
godly.  They  had  family  worship  though  they 
cheated  in  a  horse  trade,  and  one  of  them  said,  grimly, 
but  sincerely,  to  Parson  Ward,  "We  reckon  we  sort 
of  average  things  up." 

A  motley  throng  filled  Tim's  little  home,  and  over 
flowed  on  the  porch  and  grass  plot.  It  was  an  In 
dian  summer  night,  and  the  air  was  soft  and  full  of 
sweet  scents.  Women  wrapped  in  blanket  shawls 
sat  on  the  steps;  men  perched  on  the  fence.  The 
lamps  were  lit;  and  the  girls  looked  curiously  on  the 
books  and  pictures  that  made  one  side  of  the  living 
room  look  as  if  it  were  too  grand  for  the  other.  Many 
of  the  older  ones  could  not  read;  most  of  the 
younger  ones  could,  but  of  all  there,  none,  except 
Janet  and  her  father,  had  even  a  slight  acquaint 
ance  with  Emerson,  Longfellow,  Browning  or  Ten 
nyson. 

But  just  before  the  meeting  began,  this  statement 
might  have  been  modified,  for  there  was  an  unex 
pected  addition  to  the  assembly.  Alice  Kensett, 
Mrs.  Lorimer,  the  two  Fullers  and  Mr.  Yancey  came 
strolling  up  as  if  by  accident.  Their  arrival  did  not 
in  any  way  disturb  the  grave  composure  of  the 


124          JANET: 

mountaineers.  Such  unimportant  details  as  tailor 
made  gowns  and  smart  London  suits  did  not  impress 
them.  Room  was  made  for  Alice  beside  Belle;  and 
the  elder  Mrs.  Nelson  shook  hands  with  Mrs.  Lor- 
imer  as  one  empress  might  with  another. 

The  meeting  began  informally.  Mr.  Ward  started 
a  hymn,  one  that  he  was  sure  everybody  knew. 
"  When  I  can  read  my  title  clear."  It  was  followed 
by  "Rock  of  Ages,"  and  Mr.  Fuller  raised  the  tune; 
a  third  time  Mr.  Ward  started  a  melody  which  was 
now  taken  up  by  only  a  few: 

"  O  God,  our  help  in  ages  past, 
Our  hope,  for  years  to  come, 
Our  shelter  from  the  stormy  blast, 
And  our  eternal  home." 

The  cultivated  singers  swelled  this  hymn  in  a  rich 
triumphant  chord,  but  Mr.  Ward  was  not  satisfied; 
and  he  slipped  into  an  old  camp-meeting  air  which 
caught  up  every  heart  in  its  joyous  lilt: 

"  Oh,  how  happy  are  they 
Who  their  Saviour  obey 
And  have  laid  up  their  treasure  above. 
Oh,  what  tongue  can  express 
The  sweet  comfort  and  peace 
Of  a  soul  in  its  earliest  love  ?  " 

Here  Tim  contributed  a  fine  tenor. 

After  this  Mr.  Ward  prayed,  reading  from  his 
little  New  Testament  first.  Then  simply,  but  very 
earnestly,  he  told  again  the  old,  old  story  of  Jesus 
and  His  love,  and  then  Mr.  Fuller  led  in  prayer. 

Janet  was  deeply  moved  by  the  scene.  She  sat 
near  Belle  whose  chair  was  close  to  Donald's  crib. 


A  PREACHING  SERVICE    125 

She  had  shaded  it  with  a  drapery  of  netting,  and  he 
slept  through  the  meeting,  as  children  do,  oblivious 
to  noise  or  stir.  Janet  fancied  Miss  Prescott  or 
Nancy  Wiburn  in  this  quaint  company,  and  wished 
for  both.  She  had  floated  off  into  a  dreamful  recol 
lection  of  Lucas,  when  she  was  aroused  by  hearing 
her  father  address  her, 

"Janet,  sing  something,  my  dear." 

Janet's  voice  was  a  pure,  delicate  soprano,  not 
powerful,  but  very  sweet  in  a  room.  Though  taken 
by  surprise,  she  needed  no  urging,  and  her  father  had 
known  he  might  depend  on  her.  She  began, 

"Moment  by  moment  I'm  kept  in  His  love,"  and 
sang  the  beautiful  words  through,  with  her  whole 
heart  in  every  line.  Tim  Nelson  listened,  his  eyes 
responsive;  his  old  mother  nodded  her  head;  the  song 
expressed  what  she  had  lived.  When  she  finished, 
Mr.  Fuller  prayed,  as  a  man  communes  with  his 
dearest  friend,  as  if  he  saw  the  Lord.  On  the  outside 
of  the  farthest  group,  an  outlaw,  who  spent  most  of 
his  time  in  hiding,  heard,  and  said  under  his  breath, 

"  Stranger,  it's  good  to  be  you  !  I'll  try  to  find  out 
what  you've  got  that  other  people  haven't." 

Slouching,  black-browed  Tim  came  when  the  meet 
ing  was  over  and  said, 

"  Please,  Miss  Janet,  say  your  prayers  to-night  for 
me.  I  want  to  be  a  better  man ; "  and  his  mother  added: 

"Praise  the  Lord!  " 

When  the  meeting  broke  up,  five  of  the  young 
people  came  to  Mr.  Ward  and  asked  instruction;  and 
under  the  trees  was  held  an  inquiry  meeting,  then  and 
there.  It  was  the  beginning  of  a  revival. 

That  night,  Theodore  Fuller,  in  his  diary,  pencilled 


i26          JANET:  WARD 

a  date  and  wrote  beside  it  some  cabalistic  letters. 
Nobody  could  have  interpreted  them  then,  but  there 
came  a  time  when  he  told  his  much-amused  wife 
what  they  signified  when  he  wrote  them. 

Theodore  Fuller  had,  as  a  child,  been  taken  to  a 
communion  in  the  Highlands  of  Scotland.  When  the 
Sabbath  day  dawned,  in  which  he  was  to  assist  Mr. 
Ward  in  the  services,  he  was  reminded  of  that  day. 

The  church  members  lived  a  long  way  apart.  The 
church  was  a  plain  wooden  building  without  a  single 
architectural  beauty,  but  it  was  of  good  size  and  the 
pews  were  roomy.  Whole  families  were  there 
together  on  a  sacramental  Sabbath,  fathers,  mothers, 
and  children,  to  babies  in  arms.  A  good  many  dogs 
followed  their  masters,  but  they  remained  outside 
and  seemed  to  know  that  they  could  not  put  their 
heads  within.  Many  of  the  congregation  came  on 
horseback,  a  child  seated  on  the  horse  with  the 
mother,  or  two  girls  on  a  pony.  Not  a  few  were 
crowded  into  old-fashioned  carryalls  and  carts;  some 
walked  miles.  Young  men  and  maidens  who  were 
known  to  be  sweethearts,  managed  not  to  be  seated 
too  far  apart.  Little  tots  of  two  and  three  trotted  up 
and  down  the  aisles.  Mothers  hushed  their  babies, 
or  fed  them  under  their  shawls.  The  neighborhood, 
all  of  it,  was  in  church. 

Not  many  were  coming  in  on  profession  at  this 
time,  but  none  the  less  it  was  a  sacred  and  blessed 
season,  impressive  to  those  who  were  not  of  the 
church,  as  well  as  to  the  rest.  An  infant  was 
baptized.  David  Ward  held  it  in  his  arms,  and  said, 

"  Ruth,  a  child  of  the  covenant,  I  baptize  thee  in 
the  name  of  the  Father,  the  Son,  and  the  Holy  Ghost." 


A  PREACHING  SERVICE    127 

More  than  one  grown  up  child  of  the  covenant  who  had 
wandered  away,  felt  that  the  minister's  eye  was  upon 
him  in  the  sermon  that  followed.  For  David  Ward 
had  taken  for  his  text,  these  words,  "  They  hated 
Me  without  a  cause."  And  he  dwelt  on  the  enor 
mity  of  sin,  the  enormity  of  malice,  the  outrageous 
hardness  of  the  heart  that  can  hate  the  All-Loving 
One  without  a  cause.  Hate  was  chill;  hate  was 
absence;  hate  was  death.  Then  he  dwelt  on  that 
strange  love  of  the  Redeemer  which  includes  every  one 
of  the  race;  and  as  he  preached,  his  words,  came  rush 
ing  onward  like  a  spring  flood,  till  they  were  as  a  tor 
rent  in  their  haste;  so  much  had  he  to  tell,  and  so  short 
was  the  time.  And  the  white-haired  judge,  who  sat 
in  front,  bowed  his  head  on  his  hand  and  wept;  and 
the  frowning  moonshiner,  in  the  back  seat,  fell  on 
his  knees  and  exclaimed,  loud  enough  to  be  heard 
half  way  over  the  church, 

"God  be  merciful  to  me,  a  sinner." 

In  the  old  Springdale  days  David  Ward  had  often 
been  eloquent.  Now  he  was  not  so  much  eloquent  as 
he  was  a  man  with  a  message,  a  man  under  orders,  a 
man  who  must  preach  and  win  souls,  or  die. 

They  sang,  could  Janet  ever  forget  it,  the  strains 
rising,  swelling,  resounding, 

"  When  I  survey  the  wondrous  cross 

On  which  the  Prince  of  glory  died, 
My  richest  gain  I  count  but  loss 
And  pour  contempt  on  all  my  pride. 

"  See  from  His  head,  His  hands,  His  feet 
Sorrow  and  love  flow  mingled  down. 
Did  e'er  such  love  and  sorrow  meet, 
Or  thorns  compose  so  rich  a  crown  ?  " 


128          JANET:  WARD 

The  broken  bread;  the  poured  out  wine;  the  utter 
silence;  the  bowed  heads;  the  solemnity  of  some; 
the  uplifting  of  all;  Janet's  soul  seemed,  to  her  own 
apprehension,  like  a  cup  filled  to  the  brim.  At  the 
very  end,  they  sang  the  twenty-third  psalm,  and 
there  were  those  present  who  had  learned  it  in  the 
Scottish  version,  at  their  mothers'  knees. 

"  The  Lord's  my  Shepherd,  I'll  not  want : 

He  makes  me  down  to  lie. 
In  pastures  green ;  He  leadeth  me 
The  quiet  waters  by. 

"  My  soul  He  doth  restore  again  ; 

And  me  to  walk  doth  make 
Within  the  paths  of  righteousness, 
Ev'n  for  His  own  name's  sake. 

"Yea,  though  I  walk  in  death's  dark  vale, 

Yet  will  I  fear  no  ill. 
For  Thou  art  with  me,  and  Thy  rod 
And  staff  they  comfort  still. 

0  Goodness  and  mercy,  all  my  life, 

Shall  surely  follow  me  ;  • 

And  in  God's  house  forever  more 
My  dwelling-place  shall  be. 

The  revival  was  like  a  kindling  flame.  Reserved 
people,  who  habitually  restrain  their  emotions,  are 
apt,  when  they  let  themselves  go,  to  express  more 
than  others  by  sheer  reaction.  In  cabins,  in  stores, 
by  the  roadside,  men  and  women  talked  of  the  great 
news  the  preacher  had  brought  them ;  and  the  manse, 
from  morning  till  night,  had  people  coming  and 
going.  The  busier  David  was,  the  happier  he  felt. 


A  PREACHING  SERVICE    129 

As  for  provisions,  Janet  had  no  stint,  for  the 
parishioners  did  not  come  empty  handed.  No  more 
generous  people  live  than  the  mountaineers.  They 
brought  meal  and  honey,  ham  and  potatoes,  some 
times  a  chicken,  and  sometimes  corn  for  the  minister's 
horse;  a  stream  of  benefactions  flowed  through  the 
manse  doors.  The  table  always  had  an  extra  cup 
and  plate. 

Mr.  Fuller  was  calling  on  Janet,  one  afternoon, 
when  up  the  road  came  a  queer  procession,  odd  to 
Northern  eyes,  though  familiar  enough  in  that  locality 
A  man  walked  along,  leading  a  brown,  big  boned 
horse.  On  the  horse  sat  a  young  woman  with 
her  sunbonnet  shading  a  blushing  face.  Carefully 
strapped  behind  her  saddle,  was  a  bag  of  meal. 

"A  wedding,"  said  Janet.  " I  wonder  if  daddy  is 
at  home." 

"Is  the  preacher  in?"  called  a  voice  from  the 
gate. 

"Yes,"  came  cheerily  from  the  study,  and  as  Mr. 
Ward  appeared  at  the  door,  the  young  man,  a  pic 
turesque  figure  in  wide  felt  hat,  top  boots,  and 
trousers  tucked  into  them  for  security,  lifted  the 
bride  to  the  ground,  and  side  by  side  they  entered 
the  manse  parlor.  Probably,  neither  of  them  had 
ever  seen  a  room,  which  to  their  thought,  was  so 
grand,  for  it  was  a  bit  of  Springdale  set  down  in 
Tennessee,  and  on  every  side  there  were  tokens  of  a 
taste  and  refinement  which  this  pair  could  not  have 
hitherto  encountered.  But  they  showed  no  wonder, 
they  took  the  splendor  for  granted;  and  with  Janet, 
Hughie,  and  Mr.  Fuller,  for  witnesses,  they  were 
married.  The  groom  did  not  remove  his  hat,  till  Mr. 


130  JANET  WARD 

Ward  prayed.  Then  he  held  it  in  his  hand.  When 
the  ceremony  was  over,  the  man  put  on  the  table  a 
wallet,  from  which,  after  some  groping,  he  drew 
forth  a  silver  dollar. 

"Parson,"  he  said,  "is  this  enough?" 

"  Quite  enough  for  me,  my  friend,  if  it  is  not  more 
than  you  can  afford  to  give." 

"  I  wish  I  could  make  it  ten,"  said  the  newly  made 
husband,  as  he  led  his  wife  to  the  gate,  and  helped 
her  to  mount  the  horse.  They  disappeared  up  the 
hillslope,  their  whole  outfit  for  life  consisting  of  the 
horse  and  the  bag  of  meal.  On  the  cabin  hearth,  the 
man  would  light  a  fire.  A  bed,  a  table,  two  chairs, 
a  kettle  and  a  spider,  a  room  with  glazed  windows; 
the  bride  would  feel  herself  the  equal  of  any  princess. 

"  That  man  ought  to  have  been  told  to  take  off  his 
hat,"  said  Mr.  Fuller. 

"That  man,"  answered  Mr.  Ward,  "takes  off  his 
hat  to  Jehovah,  but  to  no  mortal  man.  He  lives 
under  his  hat.  It  is  a  part  of  himself.  He  was  large- 
hearted  with  his  fee.  It  has  taken  him  weeks  to  save 
that  dollar.  Janet,  we  must  follow  these  people  up, 
and  get  them  into  our  church." 

Mr.  Ward  went  back  to  his  books.  Janet  had  no 
servant  just  now,  Chloe  being  ill,  so  Hughie  and  Stuart, 
who  had  not  yet  gone  to  college  for  the  winter  term, 
and  Theodore  Fuller,  helped  her  to  get  supper. 
They  made  a  frolic  of  it,  and  Theodore  felt  it  an 
honor  to  be  permitted  when  it  was  over,  to  wipe  the 
cups  and  saucers.  Janet  was  as  frank  with  him  as 
with  her  brothers.  Somehow,  he  did  not  seem  to  be 
getting  any  nearer  to  knowing  her  than  he  had  on  their 
first  day  of  meeting.  She  was  lovely,  but  remote. 


A  BUSY  WINTER 

TIM  NELSON'S  improvement  was  partial, 
merely.  He  had  an  impulse  to  better 
living,  but  the  appetite  for  drink  was  too 
deeply  seated  to  be  cured  by  anything  but  the  grace 
of  God.  For  a  little  while  he  was  more  considerate, 
more  tender;  he  undertook  the  harder  tasks,  and 
helped  Belle  with  the  housework,  as  she  grew  more 
in  need  of  relief.  His  mother  went  home,  leaving 
word  that  she  was  to  be  sent  for  when  wanted. 
Mrs.  Ward,  looking  ten  years  younger  and  prettier, 
much  refreshed  by  her  visit  to  her  girlhood's  home, 
returned;  and  with  her  came  Elizabeth  Evans,  who 
wanted  to  see  Janet  in  the  manse,  and  Barbara 
Maurice  in  her  home  across  the  county.  The  three 
girls  felt  that  it  was  having  college  over  again,  to  be 
together;  and  they  made  many  plans  for  the  next 
year,  when  Barbara's  music  lessons  in  New  York  were 
to  begin.  Elizabeth  was  to  have  a  season  in  society, 
and  Janet  hoped  to  try  her  wings  in  some  independent 
work.  Nancy  was  already  there,  in  the  thick  of 
things,  studying  hard,  and  laying  the  foundation  for 
future  success. 

Elizabeth  flitted  hither  and  yon,  spending  mornings 
in  little  rooms  where  an  old  woman  spun  and  wove, 
and  a  young  woman  churned  and  made  butter, 


132  JANEr  WARD 

petting  the  shy  children,  and  making  friends  with  the 
dogs  and  cats.  Janet  and  she  laughed  at  Mrs.  Ward's 
notion  of  a  woman's  club,  as  impracticable  here,  but 
Mrs.  Ward  was  more  firmly  resolved  on  it  than  ever, 
and  she  put  it  into  execution  by  asking  every  woman 
she  could  find,  to  a  tea  at  the  manse.  Not  an  after 
noon  tea  with  dainty  refreshments  and  a  table  where 
pretty  girls  poured  and  served  the  tea;  but  an  old- 
fashioned  bountiful  supper,  mountain  fashion,  with 
fried  chickens  for  the  piece  de  resistance,  relays  of 
hot  biscuits,  plenty  of  cake,  preserves  and  coffee. 
Two  or  three  neighbors  helped  get  this  meal  and 
helped  clear  it  away,  and  it  was  during  its  progress 
that  Mrs.  Ward  proposed  their  coming  together  at 
the  manse  for  an  hour  a  week  that  winter,  to  study 
and  talk  about  a  winsome  old  book,  "The  Pilgrim's 
Progress."  Most  of  them  had  heard  of  this  book, 
others  thought  they  would  like  to  make  its  acquaint 
ance,  and  three  or  four  who  were  rather  superior 
women,  already  knew  Christiana  and  her  children,  or 
had  heard  of  Christian's  journey  from  the  city  of  de 
struction  to  the  city  of  God.  Emily  Ward  had  a 
magic  that  no  one  could  resist,  and  when  she  asked, 
nobody  refused  her. 

"  The  manse  is  likely  to  be  a  very  much  used  place 
this  winter,"  said  Mr.  Ward  at  breakfast  soon  after 
the  club  had  been  inaugurated.  "  I  find  there  isn't 
any  money  to  pay  a  teacher,  and  so  the  school  is  not 
to  be  opened.  I  have  been  telling  the  girls  and  boys 
that  they  must  come  to  me." 

"  Daddy!"  exclaimed  Janet. 

"  I  taught  my  own  boys  and  you,  my  daughter.  I 
can  surely  teach  these  little  people." 


A  BUST  WINTER  133 

"  But  dear  heart,"  the  wife's  eyes  were  protesting 
and  her  speech  was  in  italics,  "  you  have  no  time.  I 
cannot  consent.  We  cannot  let  you  wear  yourself 
out." 

"  Darling,  when  God  shows  one  a  plain  duty,  God 
always  gives  one  time  to  do  it.  I  ought  to  have 
been  a  head  master;  I  enjoy  teaching." 

"  Well,  you'll  not  be  allowed  to  wear  the  martyr's 
crown  yet,  daddy,"  said  Janet.  "For  what  have  I 
been  to  college  ?  I'm  coaching  Hughie  and  Ralph  as 
it  is,  I'll  take  the  rest  of  the  children,  boys  and 
girls  both,  and  we'll  have  them  in  the  dining-room 
every  day.  I  can  do  it  just  as  well  as  not." 

"  But  your  work,  your  writing,  my  daughter  ?  " 

"  It  can  wait.  Yours  has  waited  a  lifetime  and  it's 
better  than  mine." 

Elizabeth  had  heard  this  conversation  with  interest. 
She  was  daily  learning  lessons  of  self-sacrifice  in  the 
simple  sweetness  of  the  manse. 

"  Mr.  Ward,"  she  said,  "there  is  really  no  need  of 
this  for  either  you  or  Janet.  My  father  would  be 
happy  to  pay  a  teacher's  salary,  I  am  sure." 

"  To  be  sure  old  Horace  would  do  a  lot  of  things, 
if  I  asked  him,  but  I'd  rather  not  have  it  that  way. 
He  may  endow  a  school  for  the  mountain  girls  some 
day.  That  would  be  a  grand  worth  while  scheme. 
But  I  don't  want  any  drop  in  the  bucket  sort  of  charity 
from  Horace,  so  Beth,  you're  not  to  mention  this.  Our 
way  is  really  the  only  way  now.  I  want  these  people 
and  their  children  to  love  me  and  mine  and  to  trust 
us  wholly.  Not  for  our  sake.  For  the  Master's." 

Elizabeth  said  no  more.  She  observed  and  pon 
dered  things  in  her  heart.  Years  after  there  were  re- 


134  JANET  WARD 

suits  at  Dene's  Mills  and  in  Tennessee  from  this 
visit. 

One  night  just  as  the  manse  was  wrapped  in  its 
first  sleep,  the  pastor  was  aroused  by  a  knock  at  the 
door.  Snow  was  falling,  and  the  wind  was  cold. 
Mr.  Ward  opened  the  window. 

"  Who's  there  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  It's  I,  Timothy  Nelson,"  was  the  answer.  "  My 
wife  is  ill  and  I'm  going  for  the  doctor.  But  I  can't 
get  mother  till  morning,  and  she  needs  a  woman 
with  her.  And  there's  nobody  near  by,  and  it's  go 
ing  to  be  a  deep  snow." 

Mr.  Ward  was  troubled.  He  dared  not  let  his  wife 
go  through  the  snow-drifts,  nor  expose  her  to  the 
cutting  cold.  Janet  was  a  young  girl.  How  could 
he  send  her  ?  Fortunately  they  had  a  servant,  old 
Betsey,  a  woman  whom  they  had  taken  in  a  while 
ago,  because  of  her  poverty.  Motherly  and  strong, 
her  dark  skin  hid  a  kind  heart.  Mr.  Ward  called  her 
and  explained  the  situation. 

"I'll  dress  and  take  a  lantern  and  go  with  you, 
Betsey,"  he  said.  "  Put  on  your  warmest  clothes  and 
wrap  up  your  head.  It's  not  far,  though  it's  a  rough 
road  in  the  storm." 

Betsey  was  soon  ready  and  Mr.  Ward  waited  for 
her  with  the  lantern.  Just  as  he  was  about  to 
close  the  outer  door,  a  light  hand  was  laid  on 
his  arm.  There  stood  Janet,  enveloped  in  a  long 
Shaker  cloak,  her  anxious  face  peeping  from  its  nun- 
like  hood. 

"  Father,  take  metoo,"  she  pleaded.  "  Belle  hasn't 
any  one,  mother,  sister,  or  friend.  I  can  look  after 
little  Donald  and  I'll  leave  when  old  Mrs.  Nelson 


A  BUST  WINTER  135 

comes.  I  can't  stay  away  from  Belle  now.  Please 
let  me  go." 

"  It's  no  place  for  you,  my  dear,"  he  began,  but  her 
mother  from  the  room  above,  interrupted:  "David, 
don't  delay,  and  let  Janet  go.  It's  right  she  should." 

The  tramp  up  the  mountain  was  slow,  encumbered 
as  they  were  by  the  thickly  falling  flakes,  but  they  kept 
on,  and  after  a  struggle  reached  the  cabin.  Janet 
pushed  open  the  door,  and  they  went  in.  There  was 
a  fire  of  logs  on  the  hearth,  but  snow  had  sifted 
through  the  crevices  and  drifted  up  close  to  Donald's 
crib.  Back  and  forth,  back  and  forth,  white  and 
wan,  walked  Belle,  her  face  drawn  with  pain.  A 
look  of  exquisite  relief  flitted  across  her  countenance 
when  she  saw  Janet  and  Betsey.  Mr.  Ward  came 
forward  and  took  her  hand. 

"We  are  friends,  my  dear,"  he  said.  "If  your 
husband  and  the  doctor  from  below  can't  get  here 
till  morning,  as  may  happen  in  the  storm,  you  need 
have  no  fear.  Betsey  will  stay  as  long  as  you 
need  her,  and  all  will  be  well."  Then  Janet  smiled  to 
hear  her  father  repeat  his  most  loved  quotation: 
"  God's  in  His  heaven.  All's  right  with  the  world." 

Dawn  did  break  on  a  white  landscape  before  Tim 
returned  with  Doctor  Huntoon,  and  soon  after,  there 
was  a  white  lily  of  a  maiden  child  lying  beside  her 
mother.  Janet  had  taken  Donald  up-stairs  and  had 
lain  beside  him  there  in  the  loft  bed,  and  when  Bet 
sey  called  her  to  breakfast  before  it  was  full  daylight, 
there  was  her  name-child  safe  in  this  strange  country 
of  ours.  Belle  smiled  at  Janet  wistfully. 

She  did  not  go  home  till  old  Mrs.  Nelson  arrived 
three  days  later  when  the  .tempest  was  over,  and  a 


136  JANET  WARD 

path  had  been  made  through  the  deep  drifts.  And  it 
was  well  she  remained,  for  Tim  who  had  kept  sober 
longer  than  his  wont,  under  the  influence  of  Belle's 
constant  kindness  and  the  spell  of  the  prayer-meet 
ings  to  which  Mr.  Ward  often  asked  him,  suddenly 
reached  the  limit  of  his  strength.  His  mother  and 
his  wife  knew  the  symptoms  of  a  break-down,  the 
restlessness,  the  fretfulness,  the  unreasonable  temper; 
they  knew  that  something  too  strong  for  Tim  Nelson 
had  got  possession  of  him.  When  the  strong  man 
armed  goes  away  and  leaves  the  house  swept  and 
garnished  it  may  be  that  seven  others  worse  than  he 
shall  enter  in  a  day  of  breach.  He  had  been  vexed 
that  the  babe  was  a  girl,  and  had  taken  little  notice 
of  her,  to  the  grandmother's  outspoken  anger.  Belle 
had  not  cared.  Her  own  mother  love  would  be 
enough  for  the  daughter,  and  she  had  long  since 
understood  that  it  was  she,  and  not  her  husband  who 
must  bring  up  her  children.  There  had  been  hours 
when  seeing  Tim  in  a  maudlin  state,  unspeakably 
revolting,  because  then  he  was  tender,  or  in  a  crazed 
state  when  he  was  irresponsibly  cruel,  or  a  state  of 
drunken  stupor  when  he  slept  like  a  log,  bloated, 
crimson,  filling  the  house  with  the  dreadful  fumes  of 
his  breath,  she  had  felt  as  if  she  must  snatch  up  her 
boy  and  run,  anywhere  to  save  him  from  his  father. 
When  she  had  told  this  to  Mr.  Ward,  not  on  the 
first  or  the  second  occasion  of  her  talks  with  that 
good  man,  he  had  said,  "  Do  not  forecast  the  future. 
Live  one  day  at  a  time.  '  As  the  day  thy  strength 
shall  be.'  What  you  should  do  when  boy  is  older, 
will  be  revealed  to  you  then.  At  present,  unless 
your  life  is  in  danger,  stay  here  and  trust  in  God.  I 


A  BUST  WINTER  137 

am  praying  that  Tim  may  be  saved  from  himself  and 
from  Satan."  Then  Belle  tried  loving  and  praying 
for  him  more  than  ever. 

Tim's  mother  prayed  too.  But  even  as  she  prayed, 
she  remembered  Tim's  father,  a  stronger  man  than 
he,  but  a  drunkard,  and  his  grandfather,  who  had 
died  in  delirium  tremens. 

Doctor  Huntoon  said  plainly  to  Mr.  Ward,  "The  best 
thing  that  Tim  Nelson  can  do  is  to  drink  himself  into 
the  grave.  That  sweet  wife  could  then  go  home  to 
her  father  and  bring  up  her  children  as  they  ought  to 
be  brought  up.  Pray  for  that,  my  dear  David.  Oh, 
I  am  a  heathen  man  no  doubt  in  your  eyes,  but  I  have 
yet  to  see  a  wavering  reed  like  Tim  Nelson  straight 
ened  and  toughened  into  a  hickory  tree.  God  help 
Belle  is  my  prayer!  " 

The  tempter  did  not  let  go  his  hold  and  a  fortnight 
later  between  two  days,  in  the  dusk  of  night,  Tim 
sneaked  off  like  a  thief.  When  morning  came  he  was 
gone,  gone  on  the  worst  spree  of  his  life,  and  his 
mother  turned  white  when  a  passer-by  halted  at  the 
gate  and  told  her  that  Dan  Trethicum,  a  hereditary  foe, 
had  come  to  town  and  was  on  the  war-path,  mad 
with  moonshine  whiskey  and  breathing  threatenings 
and  slaughter. 

"The  Trethicums  and  the  Nelsons  have  been 
enemies  from  way,  way,  way  back,"  she  explained 
to  Mr.  Ward,  to  whom  she  at  once  went.  "It 
began  when  we  all  settled  here,  in  my  great 
grandfather's  time:  they  quarrelled  over  a  boundary. 
In  every  generation  since  a  Nelson  has  killed  a 
Trethicum,  or  a  Trethicum  killed  a  Nelson,  and 
the  women  have  borne  the  brunt  of  the  sorrow, 


138          JANET:  WARD 

the  brunt  of  the  shame.  The  women  have  the 
heaviest  end." 

Her  stern  hard  face  quivered.  She  held  herself  in 
by  main  force. 

"Please,  sir,"  she  said,  "if  anything  happens  to 
Tim,  look  out  for  poor  Belle.  She  was  a  lady.  She 
hadn't  ought  to  have  come  into  our  set,  but  she  is 
here  and  she's  got  to  suffer.  There'll  be  murder  done 
if  those  two  meet  up  together." 

"  I'll  go  to  the  crossroads  and  find  the  constable." 

Something  very  like  a  sneer  flickered  over  the 
mountain  woman's  face.  She  drew  herself  up 
haughtily. 

"A  constable  '11  never  lay  hand  on  either  Tim 
Nelson  or  Dan  Trethicum.  They're  bad  but  they're 
not  low  down  enough  for  constables." 

Mr.  Ward  saw  his  mistake.  Northern  born  and 
Northern  trained,  he  did  not  always  catch  the  point 
of  view  of  the  Southerner. 

' '  Pardon  me,  Mrs.  Nelson, "  he  said,  ' '  I'll  go  myself." 

"And  I'll  go  with  you,"  she  replied. 

Belle  was  sitting  up,  her  face  sweet  as  that  of  a 
saint,  a  Madonna  light  in  her  pure  eyes,  her  blossom 
of  a  baby  in  her  arms,  and  Janet  was  teaching  Donald 
his  letters  beside  the  fire.  Janet  was  teaching  every 
body  this  winter;  her  pupils  came  and  went.  Eliza 
beth  went  to  Barbara's  for  the  holidays,  declaring  she 
was  tired  of  living  with  busy  people,  the  manse  was 
as  bad  as  a  factory  and  Janet  never  had  a  minute  to 
herself.  As  for  Mr.  Ward,  he  was  a  modern  St. 
Francis  of  Assisi. 

"1  can't  keep  the  pace  of  so  much  goodness.  If  it 
were  not  for  dear  Mrs.  Ward,  who  does  her  best  to 


A  BUST  WINTER  139 

tether  her  husband  and  daughter  to  practical  things, 
they'd  both  be  ready  for  translation  at  once." 

"  What  do  they  live  on  ?  "  Barbara's  father  asked. 
"  Has  Mr.  Ward  private  means  ?  That  parish  is  very 
poor." 

"They  haven't  much  money,  but  they  live  in  com 
fort.  It  isn't  that,  Mr.  Maurice,  of  which  1  complain. 
They're  so  heavenly-minded,  and  I'm  not." 

"Is  Theodore  Fuller  heavenly-minded  too?"  in 
quired  Barbara. 

Elizabeth  grew  grave  and  ceased  her  bantering. 

"There's  not  a  man  I  know  good  enough  for  our 
beautiful  Janet  with  her  sunshiny  face,  but  if  she 
marries  Mr.  Fuller,  she'll  think  him  good  enough,  and 
he's  really  very  manly  and  fine.  He's  in  love.  Janet 
is  too  absorbed  in  the  parish  to  have  noticed  the  fact." 

"  But  he's  not  here,  is  he  ?  " 

"Not  now,  but  he's  in  Princeton,  and  there  are 
mails  that  carry  books  and  magazines  and  letters. 
The  manse  has  a  line  of  communication  with 
Princeton  Seminary." 

Down  to  the  village  crossroads,  Mr.  Ward  hastened 
with  Mrs.  Nelson.  They  met  friends  of  hers  who 
reassured  them.  Trethicum  had  gone  home,  sober, 
hours  ago,  and  Tim,  quite  able  to  take  care  of  him 
self  had  announced  that  he  was  intending  to  return 
to  his  place  about  the  same  time.  The  friends 
thought  there  was  no  danger,  as  the  men's  roads 
were  in  quite  opposite  directions. 

The  old  mother  was  not  reassured.  She  was  super 
stitious,  and  ill  omens  had  haunted  her  for  a  week. 
An  owl  had  hooted  mournfully  in  the  forest,  a  dog 
had  howled  under  her  window,  a  hare  had  run  across 


140  JANEr  WARD 

her  path.  Worse  still,  a  heavy,  depressing  premoni 
tion  had  hung  about  her  ever  since  Tim  last  shuffled 
out  of  the  house,  brought  back  by  her  resolute  will, 
only  to  elude  her  vigilance  at  midnight.  For  years 
she  had  known  this  presentiment,  but  generally  she 
had  shaken  it  off.  This  time  it  was  prophetic. 

In  utter  silence  she  went  onward.  Presently  at  the 
turn  of  the  road,  at  the  same  place  where  Belle  was 
used  in  the  summer  to  resort  to  prayer,  both  the 
mother  and  the  minister  started  back,  and  faced  each 
other  aghast.  Then  from  the  woman's  throat  burst 
a  long,  piercing,  agonized  cry,  like  the  keen  of  the 
Irish  over  their  dead,  or  the  lamentations  of  the 
Orientals  when  they  weep  for  woe.  In  every  land 
the  primitive  griefs  are  the  same:  the  primitive 
ploughshare  turns  up  the  same  blood-red  furrows. 

"My  son!  My  son!  "she  cried,  and  sinking  on 
the  snowy  ground  took  the  head  of  Tim  on  her  lap. 
Near  him  lay  his  foe,  both  shot  through  the  heart, 
and  whether  both  were  murderers  or  one  was  a 
suicide  none  could  tell.  Their  careers  were  ended, 
and  with  them  the  feud  of  the  Trethicums  and  Nel 
sons  closed  forever. 

Belle  sat  in  her  room,  white  robed,  with  her  baby 
in  her  arms,  when  there  was  the  sound  of  feet  at  the 
door,  and  men  brought  home  her  dead.  She  was 
awe-struck,  shocked,  but  quiet.  She  shed  no  tear. 
Even  her  mother-in-law  jealous  for  her  son,  could 
find  no  fault  with  Belle,  though  she  repressed  her 
moans  and  made  no  violent  demonstration.  Days 
passed,  and  Belle  Nelson's  first  tears  were  shed  because 
she  could  not  weep.  She  was  amazed  and  disturbed 
that  she  felt  so  relieved.  The  man  who  has  worn  a  ball 


A  BUST  WINTER  141 

and  chain,  does  not  at  once  understand  how  freely  he 
can  move  without  them;  and  it  was  so  with  her. 
Gradually  a  tenderer  spirit  hushed  her  pain.  She 
began  to  idealize  the  man  who  had  gone.  She  for 
got  his  brutality,  his  grossness,  his  uncongeniality. 
He  was  again  the  gallant  lover  who  had  coaxed  her 
from  home  and  friends  to  live  with  him  in  the  midst 
of  the  wilderness. 

But  when  this  sweeter  spirit  brooded  over  her  with 
its  wings  of  peace,  she  was  again  a  daughter  at 
home,  in  her  father's  house,  beloved,  encompassed 
with  service,  faring  sumptuously  every  day.  Her 
children  were  with  her,  and  the  cabin  in  the  moun 
tains  had  receded  into  a  dream  of  the  misty  past. 


XI 
EASTER  TIDE 

Never  yet  was  a  spring-time, 

Late  though  lingered  the  snow, 
That  there  came  no  tender  south-wind, 

That  the  buds  forgot  to  blow. 

LATE  and  cold  as  was  that  winter  in  the 
mountains,  there  was  an  end  of  its  reign  at 
last.  Steadily,  triumphantly  marched  on  the 
season  of  the  golden  days  when  anemone  and  trillium 
bloomed  in  the  sheltered  places,  and  arbutus  opened 
pink  petals  in  the  covert  of  brown  pine  needles. 
Janet  was  a  child  of  the  country,  but  she  had  not 
dreamed  of  the  affluence  and  fragrance  of  spring  in 
Tennessee.  She  was  beside  herself  with  the  bliss  of 
it,  the  opulence  of  flower  and  leafage,  the  splendor 
of  the  dogwood  and  the  yellow  jasmine  and  she  and 
her  father  spent  hours  driving  through  the  forest 
ways,  when  Mr.  Ward  had  people  to  visit,  or  preach 
ing  services  to  attend.  Her  mother  would  stand  in 
the  door  and  watch  them  going,  and  then  take  up 
her  homely  tasks  with  a  cheer  foreign  to  her  in  the 
years  of  her  youth.  Writing  to  an  old  school  friend 
about  this  time,  Mrs.  Ward  explained  the  change  by 
this  remark,  "  I  don't  know  that  I  am  in  much  better 
health  than  I  used  to  be,  but  spiritually  I  have  reached 
a  haven  of  rest.  Formerly  the  Bible  promises  did 
not  mean  so  much  to  me  as  they  do  in  these  days. 

142 


EASTER  TIDE  143 

'Thou  wilt  keep  him  in  perfect  peace,  whose  mind 
is  stayed  on  Thee,  because  he  trusteth  in  Thee,'  is 
my  proved  rock  of  strength.  I  see  less  of  David 
than  I  did  when  I  used  to  stand  guard  over  the  door 
bell,  lest  the  congregation  and  the  travelling  agent 
and  visiting  brother  from  another  parish  should  need 
lessly  interrupt  him.  The  latch-string  is  loose  in  the 
mountains,  and  we  have  no  door-bell.  David  is  as 
accessible  to  all  comers  as  I  am  myself,  and  in  these 
parts,  if  either  of  us  were  once  not  at  home  to  any 
caller,  we  should  lose  caste  tremendously.  Of  Janet  1 
see  as  little  as  of  her  father.  She  is  absorbed  in  her 
work  among  the  women  and  children,  and  has  been 
the  leading  spirit  in  the  Woman's  Missionary  Society 
for  the  last  few  months.  Our  people  are  poor,  but 
they  are  not  niggardly.  There  are  rich  Christians 
who  are  paupers  in  spirit,  but  it  is  not  so  with  our 
dear  friends  here.  The  little  they  have  to  give  is 
large  in  God's  sight  because  it  is  so  gladly  conse 
crated.  Janet  is  not  to  be  here  long  though,  she 
needs  a  wider  sphere,  and  there  are  tokens  that  fore 
tell  flight  before  many  months.  No,  she  isn't  to 
be  married  yet,  though  I,  her  mother,  rejoice  with 
trembling  as  1  notice  that  she  is  not  to  be  left  outside 
the  experience  which  of  all  others  crowns  a  woman's 
life.  Janet  will  not  be  a  wife  as  early  as  you  and  I 
were,  but  she  will  not  say  '  no '  when  a  certain  some 
body  asks  her.  At  present  that  somebody  has  a 
mother  and  invalid  sister  dependent  upon  him  for 
partial  support,  so  that  he  cannot  further  burden 
himself.  Janet  has  been  writing  poetry,  some  of  it 
is  printed,  and  she  receives  payment  for  it.  Some, 
usually  the  best,  is  rejected,  but  I  tell  her  not  to  mind, 


144  JANET  WARD 

she  has  had  the  fun  of  writing  it,  which  must  be  a 
joy.  It  would  be  to  me. 

"  There  they  come,  my  two  home  missionaries,  and 
I  must  close  my  letter.  The  boys  are  well.  I  love 
you,  dear,  though  I  don't  often  write.  How  can  I, 
when  I  must  cook  and  churn,  and  clean  house,  and 
do  a  lot  of  useful  things  which  enable  the  minister  to 
do  his  work  with  an  easy  mind.  I  wish  you  could 
see  David.  He  is  handsomer  than  ever  with  his  deep 
blue  honest  eyes  and  his  silver  hair,  and  as  for  his 
preaching,  it  was  never  so  good.  It  even  helps  his 
wife,  who  has  ceased  to  listen  vicariously,  and  is  not 
worried  about  the  impression  her  alter  ego  is  making 
when  he  gives  God's  message.  Again,  good-bye." 

"Well,  mother,"  Janet's  eyes  were  radiant,  "I 
have  news  for  you,  Barbara's  engaged,  and  to  whom 
of  all  people?" 

"I'm  sure  I  can't  imagine." 

"No  wonder  you  can't,  dearest;  the  list  of  Barbara's 
swains  was  legion  and  she  left  a  lot  of  desolated 
hearts  behind  her  when  she  went  away  to  study. 
But  she's  been  captured,  and  that  quickly  by  an  im 
petuous  suitor,  who  would  brook,  no  delay.  Three 
months  ago  they  were  strangers,  now  her  father's 
consent  has  been  asked,  and  Barbara's  coming  home 
to  be  married  at  Easter." 

"You'll  have  to  tell  me  the  man's  name.  I  never 
could  guess  riddles  or  conundrums  or  find  out  secrets. 
Pray  who  is  this  headlong  youth  who  is  so 
fortunate?" 

"  Phil  Evans,  mother.     Elizabeth's  Cousin  Phil." 

"Tom  Evan's  brother,  I  presume." 

"  Yes,  the  Evans'  connection  is  large.     It's  Tom 


145 

who  is  in  love  with  Elizabeth,  you  know.  Phil  just 
suits  Barbara,  but  all  Lucas  who  knew  her  as  a  happy, 
merry  girl  who  lived  for  the  day  will  be  amazed  that 
she  is  going  to  be  a  missionary  in  India.  Phil  and 
she  will  spend  a  year  at  Oxford  and  then  sail  away 
to  some  old  Hindu  city,  where  their  work  awaits 
them.  Mother,  I've  had  a  check  from  the  Onward, 
and  it  will  just  buy  a  wedding  gift  for  Barbara." 

"  I  wish  it  would  buy  a  new  frock  for  Barbara's 
bridesmaid,  for  I  suppose  you'll  be  that.  Elizabeth 
and  you,  no  doubt." 

"  Yes,  but  my  old  white  muslin  will  do  perfectly 
well  with  a  little  freshening.  Father  and  I  have  been 
visiting  up  on  the  mountain  and — where  is  father  ? 
Oh!  buried  in  a  book  by  this  time;  we  came  upon 
that  couple  who  were  married  here  when  Ted  Fuller 
was  visiting  in  the  manse.  They  were  very  glad  we 
came,  and  they've  promised  to  be  at  church  next 
Sabbath." 

Mrs.  Ward  noted  that  Janet  spoke  of  Mr.  Fuller  as 
"Ted."  It  was  an  inadvertence  that  was  by  way 
of  a  revelation.  The  two  had  grown  much  more 
familiar  than  of  old,  and  since  Theodore  had  left 
Princeton  they  were  exchanging  letters  often. 

"  What  is  Mr.  Fuller  doing,  dear  ?  " 

"  Assisting  Dr. in  a  large  church  in  New 

York.  He's  kept  busy  just  as  he  likes  to  be.  Oh, 
what  a  busy  world  it  is  even  here,  where  nothing 
happens  except  to  ones  and  twos.  By  the  by, 
mother,  daddy's  had  a  letter  from  Deacon  Pumble- 
chook! " 

"  A  letter  from  Mr.  Leland!  Why  it's  strange  he 
didn't  tell  me.  Your  father's  growing  absent- 


146          JANET:  WARD 

minded.  He  was  never  that.  Run  and  tell  him  I 
want  to  hear  Springdale  news." 

It  isn't  every  minister  who  with  unruffled  brow  can 
meet  an  interruption  from  his  family  when  he  is 
meditating  on  a  sermon,  but  David  Ward  could.  He 
left  a  half  finished  sheet  of  notes  lying  on  his  open 
Bible,  and  with  a  smiling  face,  held  out  Mr.  Leland's 
letter.  It  seemed  a  long  one. 

"I  don't  want  it  to  read,  dear,  I  want  to  know 
what  made  him  write." 

"  So  far  as  I  can  fathom  it  an  impulse  of  genuine 
old-fashioned  friendship.  He  knows  that  Springdale 
holds  a  big  bit  of  my  heart,  that  I  shall  love  it  to  the 
end  of  my  life,  and  that  rough  chestnut  burr  as  he  is, 
I  love  him  with  his  prickles  for  the  sweetness  they 
may  hide.  Well  the  new  man  at  Springdale  is  a 
great  success,  thank  God!  They're  building  an  ad 
dition  to  the  manse,  and  remodeling  the  church,  and 
at  every  communion  a  goodly  number  are  coming 
forward  to  confess  Christ.  I  am  very  happy  over  it." 

"He  only  sent  you  word  because  he  thought  it 
would  hurt  your  feelings,"  said  Janet. 

"Yes,  I  can't  credit  Mr.  Leland  with  a  generous 
motive,"  said  Mrs.  Ward. 

"  Oh,  women,  women,"  groaned  the  minister,  "  so 
noble  yet  so  unjust.  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  criti 
cising  you  two,  you  are  generally  in  the  right,  but 
as  it  happens  you  are  now  both  wrong  and  should  be 
reproved.  Your  consciences  may  be  trusted  to  do  it 
so  I  won't.  Mr.  Leland  expresses  great  regard  for  all 
of  us,  and  has  sent  me  fifty  dollars  as  an  Easter  gift,  a 
little  earlier  than  the  season,  '  to  be  used  for  yourself, 
dominie,  or  for  your  work,  just  as  you  please.' " 


EASTER   TIDE  147 

"I  take  back  my  doubts,"  said  Mrs.  Ward  with  a 
smile. 

"  And  I'm  a  mean,  low-down,  ill-conditioned  girl, 
and  you  must  kiss  me  and  forgive  me,  daddy.  I'll 
not  call  the  old  Deacon  Mr.  Pumblechook  ever 
again."  So  Janet  made  amends. 

Mrs.  Ward  knew  several  ways  to  spend  that  fifty 
dollars,  but  she  would  not  suggest  them.  It  went  in 
repairing  the  leaky  roof  of  the  church,  in  painting  it 
anew  inside,  and  in  purchasing  hymn  books.  When 
Easter  arrived,  there  was  a  church  that  seemed 
almost  too  beautiful  for  use,  when  the  people  gath 
ered  to  sing  their  resurrection  hymns.  The  pulpit 
was  adorned  with  lilies,  and  the  lilies  of  Christ's 
peace  bloomed  that  day  in  hearts  that  had  been  at 
war  with  Him. 

That  Easter  was  memorable  in  the  countryside  be 
cause  it  was  a  red-letter  time  to  those  who  had  grown 
used  to  gray  days  only.  Those  who  pass  through 
the  mountain  land  are  always  touched  by  the  sorrow 
ful,  uncomplaining  looks  of  the  women,  who  soon 
after  youth  lose  their  beauty  and  bloom.  By  slow 
degrees  a  change  had  been  wrought  among  Mr. 
Ward's  people;  there  was  a  new  brightness.  One 
boy,  loyal  to  the  core,  expressed  it  when  he  came 
back  from  college,  a  walk  of  forty  miles.  He  had  no 
money  to  go,  but  his  father  had  given  him  a  heifer, 
and  driving  her  before  him,  he  had  gone  away  in  the 
autumn,  a  stick  over  his  shoulder  balancing  the 
bundle  of  his  simple  home-made  clothing.  The 
heifer  had  been  sold,  the  lad  had  subsisted,  he  had 
made  good  progress,  and  now  he  had  returned  to 
help  his  father  with  the  spring  planting. 


148          JANET:  WARD 

"  Mammy,"  he  said,  "  what's  come  to  you  ?  You 
look  so  young  and  so  pretty." 

The  mother  laughed.  Mothers  never  outgrow  a 
liking  for  the  compliments  of  their  sons,  "  I've  been 
learning  things  too,  son,"  she  said.  "  I've  learned  a 
heap  of  things  since  you  went  away,  and  I  do  feel 
younger,  sure  enough." 

The  crippled  girl  who  seldom  left  her  chair  by  the 
window,  was  borne  to  church  that  day  in  the  arms 
of  her  brothers,  the  blind  man  who  felt  every  step 
painfully  with  a  cane,  was  there  too,  and  the  little 
church  was  thronged  by  men  and  women  of  other 
places  and  wider  culture,  among  them  a  sojourner 
from  a  northern  city,  who,  going  away,  said  to 
Barbara's  father,  as  they  prepared  for  their  long 
drive  home,  "  That  preacher  is  thrown  away  down 
here.  I'd  like  to  have  him  in  my  town  where  there'd 
be  those  who  could  appreciate  him." 

"You  couldn't  tempt  David  Ward  away,  judge," 
said  Mr.  Maurice.  "He's  got  too  big  a  task  here, 
and  he's  like  his  Lord,  the  common  people  hear  him 
gladly." 

Nevertheless  out  of  that  Easter  sermon  grew  the 
invitation  that  later  urged  Mr.  Ward  to  supply  for  a 
period  of  months  a  prominent  vacant  pulpit  in  a 
northern  city  of  wealth  and  prosperity.  At  Spring- 
dale  the  chance  would  have  been  eagerly  welcomed, 
but  Mr.  Ward  had  passed  far  beyond  the  ambitions 
of  Springdale.  He  had  become  what  he  came  hither 
to  be,  a  wilderness  pastor,  and  not  even  for  a  season 
would  he  cease  from  his  task. 

Easter  week  and  Barbara's  wedding  gave  Janet  a 
break  from  home  cares  and  duties.  She  went  to  be 


EASTER  riDE  149 

one  of  the  gay  house  party  who  were  to  send  Barbara 
off  on  her  new  career,  and  there  she  met  some  of  her 
old  Lucas  friends,  for  Barbara's  mother  crowded  the 
house  to  its  utmost  capacity  with  her  daughter's 
friends,  and  the  kith  and  kin  around  opened  their 
homes  for  the  entertainment  of  guests. 

Janet  was  shown  by  the  trim  maid  to  a  wee  bit  of 
a  chamber  under  the  roof,  where  she  found  every 
thing  for  her  comfort,  the  chamber  proved  to  be  one 
of  three,  en  suite,  separated  by  soft  portieres  of  flow 
ered  cretonne.  After  she  had  taken  the  points  of  her 
special  room,  which  reminded  her  of  an  alcove  at 
Lucas,  she  thought  she  heard  a  rustle  and  a  whisper 
in  the  one  next  to  her.  The  whisper  grew  into 
speech,  there  was  suppressed  laughter.  Then  the 
curtain  was  gently  drawn  back,  and  there  stood 
Elizabeth  Evans. 

"Barbara  thought  her  bridesmaids  ought  to  be  to 
gether,"  she  said,  still  laughing. 

"Of  course,  and  it's  like  her  to  have  planned  it, 
but  why  do  you  laugh  ?  Are  you  hiding  anything, 
Elizabeth?" 

"She  is,  she  is  hiding  me,"  and  forth  stepped 
somebody  whom  Janet  had  not  seen  for  months,  not 
since  she  had  left  her  on  the  railway  platform  at 
Lucas  when  commencement  was  over,  Nancy  Wil- 
burn ! 

"You  didn't  think  that  Barbara  would  be  married 
without  asking  me,  did  you  ?  And  of  course,  I  said 
yes  with  thanks,  and  I'm  to  be  a  bridesmaid,  too.  I 
am  to  be  paired  with  one  of  you,  the  other  with 
Agnes  Maurice." 

Those  three  girls  talked  late  that  night  when  the 


150  JANET  WARD 

house  was  still.  And  the  outcome  of  their  talk  was 
that  when  they  returned  to  New  York,  Janet  went 
with  them. 

Weeks  afterwards  on  a  sultry  summer  morning,  an 
editor,  bored  but  benevolent,  rose  from  his  office 
chair  to  greet  a  contributor.  Editors  do  not  invari 
ably  rise  but  this  one  was  gracious  and  moreover  he 
had  a  kind  word  for  most  girls  who  sought  his  sanc 
tum,  having  daughters  of  his  own. 

The  office  boy  had  brought  in  her  card,  Miss  Ward, 
and  it  meant  no  more  to  the  editor  than  if  it  had  been 
Miss  White  or  Miss  Black.  But  the  young  lady  who 
advanced  to  meet  him  extended  a  note  written  some 
weeks  back  to  herself,  in  which  in  his  own  hand  the 
great  man  read,  "I  am  happy  to  accept  your  sketch, 
'Aunt  Linda's  Spinning  Wheel.'  Enclosed  please 
find  Messrs.  Flin  &  Frower's  check  for  fifteen  dollars. 
If  you  can  write  other  stories  as  good  as  this,  I  shall 
be  glad  to  see  more  of  your  work." 

"I  think  I  can,"  said  the  young  woman  confi 
dently,  taking  an  offered  seat,  while  the  editor  in 
spirit  regretted  his  rashness.  So  many  times  he  had 
met  the  new  contributor  whose  single  bright  verse 
or  strong  sketch  seemed  the  sole  efflorescence  of  her 
genius,  who  once,  and  once  only,  soared  away  and 
broke  the  bonds  of  the  commonplace,  yet  he  still 
kept  on  giving  his  cordial  encouragements,  only  that 
they  might  cause  tears  and  disappointment.  Every 
editor  is  on  the  lookout  for  the  rising  star  on  the  hori 
zon,  and  there  is  over  the  bright  new  find  joy  that  is 
never  felt  at  the  most  admirable  work  of  the  author 
whose  fame  is  made.  But  editors  are  seldom  enthu 
siastic  till  they  are  sure.  However,  Mr.  Earnshaw's 


EASTER  TIDE  151 

manner  was  genial,  and  he  dashed  no  cold  water  on 
the  sanguine  hopes  of  the  young  woman,  who  had 
brought  him,  modestly  enough,  another  story,  and 
who  proffered  her  wish  for  steady  work. 

"  Anything,  ever  so  little,  that  will  bring  me  a  cer 
tain  something  every  week,"  was  her  desire. 

Again  the  editor  groaned  in  spirit.  They  all  wanted 
just  that.  Fledgelings  from  college,  middle-aged 
men  with  literary  ambitions,  elderly  decayed  gentle 
women  with  the  better  days  they  had  seen  clamor 
ing  from  their  rusty  black  and  their  carefully  mended 
gloves  and  home-made  jackets,  and  pretty  maids  like 
this  one,  they  wanted  the  same  thing,  a  steady  job. 
Mr.  Earnshaw  had  learned  to  say  no,  so  gently  that  it 
did  not  occur  to  his  auditors  that  it  was  not  yes,  till 
the  interview  was  over;  he  had  told  unbelieving 
hearers  a  hundred  times  that  positions  were  few,  and 
that  the  ins  did  not  generally  give  them  up  to  the 
outs,  but  to  Janet  Ward,  he  said  something  different, 
something  more  encouraging. 

"I  wouldn't  try  for  an  office  place  if  I  were  you, 
Miss  Ward.  It  would  clip  your  wings  too  soon.  I 
think  you  can  do  better.  Whatever  you  have  sent 
me,  whether  I  have  accepted  or  declined  it,  has  been 
above  the  average.  Go  on  writing  the  thing  that 
comes  to  you;  you  have,  though  you  may  not  know 
it,  an  individual  touch.  Tell  the  thing  you  see. 
Don't  hurry  your  stories.  Take  time." 

"  I  wish  I  could,  Mr.  Earnshaw,  but  I  must  pay  my 
way.  I  haven't  any  money,  and  I  have  no  one  to  fall 
back  upon." 

"  Ah!  "  The  editor  put  the  objection  aside  as  triv 
ial.  But  the  girl's  eyes,  full  of  practical  wisdom, 


152  JANET  WARD 

held  his.  He  was  always,  oddly,  a  mystic  as  well  as 
a  man  of  affairs. 

"  You  will  earn  all  you  need,  in  the  between  times," 
he  suddenly  answered,  coming  out  of  the  clouds,  "  by 
doing  newspaper  work.  There  is  plenty  of  that  to 
be  found  by  a  clever  girl  in  a  great  city." 

He  said  no  more.  She  rose,  supposing  the  inter 
view  closed.  She  had  put  her  city  address  on  her 
envelope. 

"Come  in  again  on  Monday  afternoon,"  said  Mr. 
Earnshaw.  "  I  may  be  able  to  give  you  some  points, 
and  some  introductions.  You  are  staying  in  town  ?  " 

"  Yes,  with  friends,"  she  answered. 

"  Ah !  That  is  well ;  "  and  the  office  boy  conducted 
her  to  the  elevator. 

Mr.  Earnshaw,  left  alone,  lit  his  pipe,  and  at  once 
began  to  read  the  manuscript  Janet  had  brought,  ob 
livious  of  the  pile  already  on  his  desk. 

A  little  bewildered,  but  still  confident,  Janet  left 
the  publishing  house,  and  walked  up  a  narrow  side 
street  not  much  wider  than  an  alley,  between  tall 
buildings  that  towered  up  like  the  rocky  walls  of  a 
canyon.  Newsboys  scurried  about,  shouting;  po 
licemen  sauntered  grandly  on;  trim  young  women, 
alert  and  preoccupied,  walked  briskly  down  the 
street;  pedestrians  jostled  each  other;  the  roar  of  the 
town  was  in  Janet's  ears.  She  stood  on  the  curb, 
feeling  what  a  mere  bit  of  drift  she  was  in  this  great, 
mad  whirlpool,  and  was  about  to  signal  a  cable  car, 
when,  dismayed,  she  discovered  that  she  had  lost  her 
purse.  She  knew  she  had  it  five  minutes  ago,  but  it 
was  gone.  An  old  apple-woman,  seated  at  a  small 
table,  saw  her  look  of  consternation,  and  called  to  her. 


EASTER   TIDE  153 

"Dearie,"  all  old  women  made  much  of  Janet.  It 
reminded  her  of  home,  and  she  smiled,  "Dearie, 
here's  a  nickel.  You  can  pay  me  back  when  you 
come  this  way  again.  You've  lost  your  pocket- 
book.  I'm  afraid  it's  been  stolen  on  you." 

"  There  wasn't  much  in  it,"  said  Janet,  unspeak 
ably  grateful  that  she  had  yielded  to  Nancy,  and  left 
all  but  her  change  at  the  flat  where  they  lived.  "  But 
I  can  walk." 

"  Where  to  ?  "  said  the  woman. 

Janet  told  her. 

"  It's  three  miles  if  it's  wan  step.  Yez'll  take  my 
nickel." 

And  she  did.  She  boarded  a  cable  car,  and  a  man 
in  the  corner  lifted  his  hat,  and  came  to  her  with  a 
beaming  face.  It  was  Theodore  Fuller.  The  two 
had  met  several  times  since  the  coming  of  Janet  to 
town,  but  nevertheless,  Mr.  Fuller  was  surprised  and 
delighted  to  see  her;  and  her  face  reflected  the  pleas 
ure  of  his. 

"  You  could  not  have  chanced  upon  me  more  op 
portunely,"  she  said.  "  I  owe  an  apple-woman,  over 
on  the  corner  by  the  bridge,  five  cents;  and  if  you 
will  pay  her  for  me  when  next  you  pass,  I  will  reim 
burse  you." 

"  How  do  you  happen  to  be  in  the  debt  of  an 
apple  woman,  for  that  magnificent  sum,  Janet  ?  " 

"  I've  had  one  of  the  experiences  of  country  folk 
who  come  to  town,  or  of  heedless  city  folk.  I  was 
walking  up  from  an  editor's  office,  with  my  head  in 
the  clouds  and  my  fancy  rioting  in  all  sorts  of  bright 
possibilities,  when  a  pickpocket  relieved  me  of  my 
change  purse.  It  is  very  mortifying." 


154  JANEr  WARD 

"You  did  not  lose  much,  I  trust?"  he  said  anx 
iously. 

"  No,  only  a  half  dollar.  I  know  your  Mission  is 
down  here  somewhere,  so  that  it  won't  be  needful 
for  me  to  make  a  special  errand  to  pay  my  benefac 
tress  to-morrow.  By  the  way,  you  don't  ask  what 
Mr.  Earnshaw  said.  Don't  you  wish  to  know  ?  " 

"Don't  I?  Indeed,  I  do.  By  your  blissful  coun 
tenance,  I  imagine  that  he  accepted  your  story  on 
the  spot.  It's  fortunate  that  he  did  not  give  you  a 
check." 

Janet  laughed. 

"  You  will  never  begin  to  understand  what  a 
sanguine  disposition  I  have.  Nobody  does,  except 
dad,  and  he  has  exactly  the  same.  Mr.  Earnshaw, 
now  that  I  consider  the  matter,  promised  me  nothing, 
beyond  the  reading  of  the  stuff  I  left  with  him.  But 
he  made  some  suggestions  and  told  me  I  might  call 
again  next  week.  Mr.  Earnshaw  advises  me  to  try 
work  on  the  papers." 

"  The  daily  papers  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course." 

"  I  can't  feel  acquiescent  in  that  view — for 
you  — 

"  Nancy  has  given  the  same  advice." 

"  Oh,  yes,  Nancy!  She  is  used  to  encountering  all 
sorts  of  people  in  all  sorts  of  places;  to  fending  for 
herself;  to  being  out,  if  need  be,  alone  after  dark. 
You  have  been  jealously  cared  for,  your  entire  life, 
Janet.  I  wouldn't  like  your  taking  up  reporting." 

"  What  would  you  like  ?"  said  Janet  a  little  stiffly. 

There  were  several  things  Mr.  Fuller  would  have 
liked,  but  the  car  was  not  the  place  to  tell  them,  and 


EASTER  TIDE  155 

besides,  poverty,  of  a  kind,  held  him  back.  He 
would  have  liked,  in  true  manly  fashion,  to  stand 
between  Janet  Ward  and  the  world,  but  even  as  he 
thought  of  the  bliss  of  this,  as  a  future  possibility, 
there  rose  up  before  him  the  vision  of  a  fretful  face, 
his  invalid  sister's;  and  a  bowed  form,  his  mother's, 
in  a  far  away  home.  For  much  of  their  comfort, 
these  two  were  dependent  on  him;  and  his  stipend 
was  not  large,  so  that  whatever  means  he  had  out 
side  of  it  were  devoted  to  the  loved  ones  at  home. 
Presently  he  said: 

"Janet,  I  have  a  conviction  that  you  can  do 
splendidly  if  you'll  stay  up  in  your  little  eyrie  at 
Nancy's  and  write  stories  and  things,  and  sell  them. 
You  are  too  dainty  and  feminine  for  the  rough  and 
tumble  of  New  York  newspaper  life.  I  should  hate, 
unspeakably,  to  have  you  lose  any  of  your  delicate 
charm,  to  become  one  of  those  teasing  and  persistent 
interviewers,  who  care  for  nothing  but  news,  and 
who  gradually  part  with  some  of  their  moral  sense  in 
the  insane  competitions  of  the  day." 

"Well,  Theodore,  you  don't  pay  me  much  of  a 
compliment.  You  seem  to  regard  what  you  are 
pleased  to  call  my  charm,  as  a  veneer  that  can  easily  be 
rubbed  off  or  chipped  away.  You  think  me  so  weak 
that  I  could  lose  my  moral  sense  without  a  struggle. 
I  am  my  father's  daughter,  and  certainly  not  quite  in 
experienced.  I  might  have  stayed  in  the  mountains 
and  written  there.  I  came  to  New  York  for  new 
ideas,  for  an  open  door,  for  a  chance  to  get  on  at  the  cen 
tre,  instead  of  staying  way  out  on  the  circumference." 

Janet's  tone  was  hurt.  Her  companion  was  quick 
to  feel  that  he  had  made  a  bit  of  a  mistake. 


156  JANEr  WARD 


"  You  must  pardon  my  blundering,"  he  said. 
"  And  pray  don't  attribute  to  me,  sentiments  that  I 
never  meant.  You  shouldn't  resent  my  wish,  to 
keep  you  protected  from  everything  that  annoys  and 
distresses  you." 

"  It  is  the  usual  masculine  attitude,  I  believe,  but  I 
think  it  is  a  little  medieval.  Women  are  so  much  in 
the  front  of  things  now,  that  one  seems  like  a  back 
number,  who  takes  your  view." 

"  Janet,  that  is  slang.  I  have  never  been  used  to 
hearing  you  use  slang.  Can  it  be  that  New  York  is 
already  brushing  off  your  bloom  ?  " 

He  spoke  playfully,  but  Janet  was  offended. 
Somehow,  they  were  out  of  touch  to-day,  and  the 
more  they  tried  to  get  into  harmony,  the  worse  was 
their  failure.  Janet  did  not  understand  that  Theo 
dore  had  been  idealizing  her  for  months,  and  could 
not  bear  a  flaw  in  his  idol;  even  her  dropping  into 
the  familiar  commonplace  of  every-day  slang,  vexed 
him.  On  her  part,  she  resented  a  certain  air  of  pro 
prietorship  and  of  mentorship,  which  he  had  in 
sensibly  adopted. 

"I  presume  you  are  getting  in  the  way  of  lectur 
ing,  since  you  have  had  a  regular  congregation  to 
preach  to,"  she  said  sweetly,  and  now  it  was  Theo 
dore's  turn  to  be  annoyed.  He  took  refuge  in  silence, 
and  they  passed  the  remainder  of  their  time  in  the  car 
without  a  syllable  of  conversation.  They  were 
almost  at  their  journey's  end.  They  had  transferred 
twice,  since  they  left  the  down-town  neighborhood 
where  the  newspapers  are  clustered  like  bees  in  a 
swarm,  and  now  they  were  far  up-town,  on  the 
West  side,  in  a  region  of  lofty  flats,  beautiful  private 


EASTER  TIDE  157 

dwellings,  and  open  spaces,  with  reaches  of  green 
sward  and  glimpses  of  trees  when  they  skirted 
Central  Park.  It  occurred  to  Mr.  Fuller  that  he  was 
losing  precious  time  and  behaving  extremely  like  an 
idiot  in  doing  so,  and  as  he  helped  Janet  from  the 
car,  he  endeavored  to  make  his  peace. 

"The  best  of  friends  make  mistakes,  Janet,  and  it 
is  the  privilege  of  friendship  to  be  very  patient. 
Please  forget  whatever  I've  said  that  has  not  been 
agreeable  to  you.  I  am  sure  that  whatever  you  do 
will  be  right,  and  I  have  faith  in  your  ability  to  do 
anything  you  attempt.  Now,  may  I  come  in,  or 
must  I  wait  until  another  time  ?  " 

They  were  at  the  door  of  the  big  house  where 
Janet  and  her  friends  had  an  apartment. 

"I  won't  ask  you  to  come  in  now,  for  I'm 
tired  and,  I'm  afraid,  cross,  and  besides  Nancy 
has  some  friends  coming  to  dinner;  girls  from  the 
League;  but  we'll  put  a  plate  on  for  you  to-mor 
row,  if  you'll  be  in  at  six.  I  don't  want  you  to  go 
away,  fancying  me  cross  with  you,"  she  added, 
shyly. 

"No,  dear,  I  won't,"  he  said. 

The  little  word  slipped  out  unawares.  He  said 
good-bye,  and  was  gone.  He  did  not  know  that  he 
had  called  her  dear,  out  loud;  he  was  so  used  to  call 
ing  her  that  in  his  thoughts.  But  it  was  really  the 
first  time  that  he  had  ever  said  it,  in  Janet's  hearing; 
and  she  went  in,  and  up,  up,  up,  the  four  flights  of 
stairs  to  the  nest  near  the  roof,  with  a  warmer  rose- 
flush  in  her  cheek,  and  a  quicker  beating  of  her  heart, 
not  at  all  due  to  the  stairs. 

"He  had  no  right  to  call  me  dear,"  she  said,  look- 


158          JANET:  WARD 

ing  at  the  other  Janet  in  the  mirror  over  her  dressing 
bureau. 

"  But  you  liked  it,"  said  the  other  Janet  swiftly  an 
swering  her  with  shining  eyes.     It  was  true. 


XII 
IN  AN  EDITOR'S  OFFICE 

ONE  may  plan  for  herself,  and  ask  advice  of 
her  friends,  and  lead  an  anxious  life  lest  her 
plans  miscarry,  while  all  the  while,  events 
are  shaping  themselves  in  ways  better  than  one  has 
dared  to  hope.  Janet  pondered  Mr.  Earnshaw's 
counsel  and  Mr.  Fuller's  opposition  to  it,  counted  the 
few  dollars  in  her  purse,  remembered  that  the  manse 
had  done  its  best  for  her  in  sending  her  North,  and 
decided  that  she  could  afford  anything  better  than  to 
fail.  Nancy,  who  had  a  business  head  on  her  shoul 
ders,  said  little.  It  was  never  Nancy's  habit  to  make 
promises,  but  those  who  knew  her,  were  aware  that 
she  was  not  slow  in  doing,  even  if  she  were  reticent 
in  speech.  Among  Nancy's  sources  of  income,  one 
that  paid  her  very  generously,  was  an  engagement 
to  make  illustrations  for  a  fashion  paper.  Her  ac 
curate  technique  and  her  quick  eye  for  single  details, 
made  her  valuable  in  a  periodical  where  current 
modes  were  shown,  and  therefore  punctually  as 
Monday  morning  came,  Miss  Wiburn  and  her  port 
folio  of  sketches  appeared  in  the  doorway  of  the 
editor's  den.  Nancy  knew  the  solid  comfort  of  a 
weekly  income,  and  though  she  was  receiving  large 
prices  for  other  occasional  work,  just  at  present  her 
dependence  was  on  the  Jewel  which  fluttered  into  a 
host  of  country  and  city  households  every  Saturday 

'59 


160  JANET  WARD 

morning.  One  day  when  Nancy  found  Miss  Bliss, 
the  editor,  in  need  of  an  office  assistant,  to  replace 
one  about  to  be  married,  she  asked  that  her  friend 
might  be  tried.  No,  she  had  not  had  experience  of 
the  exact  sort  of  work  required,  but  she  had  brains, 
a  good  education,  and  thoroughness.  Nancy  was  so 
sure  that  Janet  was  the  very  one  for  the  position, 
that  she  prevailed  upon  Miss  Bliss  to  appoint  an 
interview,  the  result  of  which  was  that  Janet  was 
engaged  on  trial  for  a  month,  and  was  soon  after 
ensconced  at  her  desk  in  the  Jewel  office,  every  day 
from  nine  until  four  o'clock,  at  a  regular  salary  of 
fifteen  dollars  a  week. 

Miss  Bliss  had  a  small  inner  sanctum  to  herself, 
where  she  read  manuscript,  wrote  letters,  and  guided 
the  policy  of  her  magazine.  Miss  Ward  was  in 
stalled  in  a  larger  outer  office,  where  the  typist  sat  at 
her  machine,  and  a  boy  in  buttons  dreamed  away 
his  time,  or,  excessively  bored,  rumpled  up  his  hair, 
and  furtively  read  a  novel  under  the  lid  of  his  desk, 
in  the  intervals  of  errands  and  orders. 

There  was  no  lack  of  work  for  the  new  assistant. 
She  translated  endless  screeds  from  the  French 
fashion  papers  and  from  letters  which  came  in  from 
Paris,  she  read  endless  proofs  in  the  galley  and  in  the 
page,  and  she  frequently  received  callers,  who  were 
not  permitted  to  intrude  upon  her  superior  in  office. 
Many  of  these  callers  wore  anxious  faces,  some  wore 
threadbare  garments  as  well.  Janet  grew  interested 
in  their  stories,  frankly  told,  or  merely  revealed  by  a 
hint  or  a  word  dropped  half  unconsciously.  There 
was  the  timid,  nervous,  hesitating  poet  with  the 
broad  burr  in  his  speech  that  spoke  of  Scotland,  the 


IN  AN  EDITOR'S  OFFICE     161 

man  who  had  the  Highland  gift  of  fancy  and  facility 
of  expression  in  verse,  but  not  an  iota  of  the  canny 
Scotsman's  ability  to  get  on  in  the  world.  Miss 
Bliss  had  nearly  broken  her  heart  so  many  times  over 
the  necessity  of  courteously  refusing  his  lyrics  and 
ballads,  that  now  she  absolutely  refused  to  see  him, 
and  the  task  of  dismissing  him  without  offense  fell 
to  Janet.  Many  a  time  when  she  was  compelled  to 
stand  as  a  barrier  between  the  woman  on  the  other 
side  of  the  closed  door  and  the  anxious  authors 
determined  to  see  her  and  to  exploit  their  wares,  she 
was  thankful  for  the  manse  training  in  tact  and 
gentleness.  The  poet  with  his  long  hair  thrown 
back  from  a  pallid  brow,  and  his  long  lean  hands 
clutching  desperately  at  a  most  forlorn  hope,  would 
take  back  his  manuscript,  thrust  into  his  pocket  to 
keep  company  with  pawn  tickets,  and  stalk  despair 
ingly  forth.  But  Janet  pitied  him  much  less  than 
she  did  the  old  ladies,  who  had  decayed  gentle 
woman  written  all  over  their  well-preserved  black 
silken  skirts  and  their  black  bonnets  brightened  up 
with  a  bunch  of  violets.  They  always  carried  reti 
cules,  and  always  treated  Janet  as  if  she  were  a 
child.  And  they  invariably  wore  violets. 

"  My  dear,"  said  one  of  them,  a  quaint  and  serious 
woman  with  bits  of  white  hair  peeping  from  under 
a  jaunty  frizz  of  brown,  "I  cannot  discuss  my  new 
serial  with  you.  I  insist  upon  seeing  the  editor  her 
self.  I  have  made  it  my  rule  not  to  present  my  busi 
ness  to  a  subordinate." 

"Miss  Bliss  is  so  very  busy  this  morning,"  Janet 
would  say;  "if  you  will  excuse  her,  I  will  take 
charge  of  your  manuscript  and  of  any  message." 


1 62  JANEr  WARD 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  "  The  question  was  abrupt, 
and  loftily  spoken. 

"Janet  Ward." 

"Well,  Miss  Janet  Ward,  I  wrote  for  the  first 
number  of  the  Jewel  thirty  years  ago,  and  the  editor 
who  had  it  then  always  saw  me  and  often  consulted 
with  me,  but  times  and  manners  have  changed. 
What  family  of  Wards  do  you  belong  to,  the  New 
Jersey  Wards  or  the  Kentucky  Wards  ?"  The  sweet 
patience  of  the  youthful  listener  was  beginning  to 
mollify  the  sternness  of  the  author  who  belonged 
to  a  bygone  day  and  had  not  found  it  out,  whose 
belief  in  her  own  powers  no  failures  dampened. 

"  My  father's  people  came  from  Western  New 
York,"  Janet  would  say,  aware  that  she  must  not 
commence  a  genealogical  talk,  or  keep  waiting  the 
two  or  three  others,  who  in  the  background  were 
watching  for  their  turn.  Sometimes  she  wondered 
at  the  concentration  which  Miss  Bliss  was  able  to 
maintain,  when  just  beyond  her  door,  the  constant 
tide  of  anxious  folk  surged  in  and  out  with  flow  and 
ebb.  By  degrees  Janet  learned  the  art  of  saying  no 
in  many  different  keys  and  inflections,  but  always 
politely,  and  she  gradually  learned  too  from  the  in 
side  that  an  editor  is  not  half  so  potential  as  the  un 
initiated  think.  Poor  Miss  Bliss  had  her  own  mo 
ments  of  trepidation  when  the  stories  she  had 
thought  so  clever,  fell  flat  on  her  public,  when  her 
publishers  declared  that  she  was  spending  too  much 
money,  or  when  despite  every  possible  care,  a  glar 
ing  error  crept  into  her  columns  and  was  not  dis 
covered  until  the  magazine  was  on  sale.  Then  too, 
she  had  to  rack  her  brain  for  novelty,  novelty,  the 


IN  AN  EDITOR'S  OFFICE     163 

one  unpardonable  sin  in  the  eyes  of  the  counting 
room,  being  what  was  called,  getting  the  paper  into 
a  rut.  Many  of  the  novelties  introduced  were  re 
garded  unfavorably  in  the  homes  where  the  Jewel 
was  taken,  but  the  publishers  seldom  appreciated 
that  view,  and  so  the  editor  kept  on,  with  a  new 
feature  to-day,  and  another  to-morrow,  always  on 
the  alert  for  the  new  contributor,  and  always  hap 
piest  when  her  magazine  was  well  in  advance  of 
forthcoming  fashions.  The  poor  old  contributors, 
drawing  neatly  folded  packets  out  of  rusty  reticules 
had  often  not  the  ghost  of  a  chance,  though  Miss 
Bliss  commiserated  them  as  much  as  Miss  Ward  did. 

Both  young  women  would  have  had  greater  com 
passion  could  they  have  followed  these  discouraged 
ladies  home.  One,  the  one  whose  brown  artificial 
frizz  was  a  part  of  her  daring  breakwater  against  the 
march  of  time,  had  a  fixed  income  so  tiny  that  it  just 
sufficed  to  pay  her  room  rent  in  the  top  floor  of  a 
handsome  lodging-house.  For  daily  food  she  de 
pended  on  the  scraps  she  could  dispose  of  to  editors, 
little  old-fashioned,  short  stories,  bits  of  description 
about  decorative  art,  cozy  corners,  and  floriculture. 
A  fellow-lodger  benevolently  inclined  wrote  the 
editor  of  the  Jewel  a  letter  saying  that  Mrs.  Yost 
was  almost  literally  famishing  and  declaring  that  it 
would  be  a  real  charity  to  buy  her  articles  even  if 
they  were  never  published. 

This  was  of  course  an  impossibility.  Magazines 
are  not  issued  on  eleemosynary  principles,  and  Miss 
Bliss  was  not  an  almoner.  She  shrugged  her  shoul 
ders,  and  washed  her  hands  of  the  whole  aching, 
wearing  responsibility.  Not  so  the  daughter  of  the 


1 64          JANET: 

manse.  The  spectacle  of  an  aged  lady,  well  dressed 
in  the  remnants  of  an  elegant  wardrobe,  proudly 
living  in  a  good  locality,  yet  vainly  trying  to  support 
herself  by  a  pen  that  had  outlived  its  usefulness, 
appealed  to  her  continually.  She  must  find  some 
way  to  help  Mrs.  Yost.  The  way  she  did  find  was 
characteristic  of  David  Ward's  daughter. 

A  letter  was  received  by  Mrs.  Yost  one  day,  from 
a  lady  who  said  she  had  heard  of  her.  The  lady  did 
not  reveal  her  identity.  She  wished  to  know  about 
old  New  York,  especially  about  the  social  customs  of 
its  earlier  days,  and  could  pay  a  small  sum  every 
week,  only  three  dollars  in  fact,  but  she  could  promise 
it  regularly  for  the  next  six  months.  The  work  was 
to  be  sent  to  B.  M.  every  Friday,  and  payment  for 
value  received  would  be  returned  by  the  evening 
mail.  The  correspondent  intimated  her  own  author 
ship.  The  whole  thing  was  an  ingenious  scheme 
evolved  by  three  clever  girls. 

"Three  dollars  is  such  a  pittance,  Nancy,"  said 
Janet  when  the  scheme  was  finally  approved  in  con 
clave  by  the  three  who  had  resolved  to  keep  the  wolf 
from  old  Mrs.  Yost's  threshold,  and  spare  her  pride 
as  well. 

"It  will  be  enough  for  the  poor  old  soul,"  said 
Nancy.  "Her  room  rent  is  assured,  and  with  what 
little  else  she  earns,  our  money  will  keep  her  in  food. 
She  can  get  a  good  dinner  at  a  respectable  restaurant 
for  twenty-five  cents  and  she  will  feel  quite  in 
dependent  and  able  to  buy  her  breakfasts  and  sup 
pers  with  the  rest.  But  you  and  Mary  and  I,  will 
every  week  hereafter  have  to  go  without  a  dollar's 
worth  of  something.  That  will  be  our  secret." 


IN  AN  EDITOR'S  OFFICE     165 

"I  don't  mind,"  said  Mary. 

"Nor  I,"  said  Janet.  "  It  is  the  greatest  relief  that 
I  haven't  to  fancy  that  poor  old  woman  starving  as 
well  as  disappointed." 

Janet  was  able  to  report  with  a  smile  not  long  after 
that  Mrs.  Yost  had  sent  word  to  the  Jewel  office 
that  for  the  present  she  would  have  little  time  to 
devote  to  possible  orders,  as  she  had  undertaken  an 
important  piece  of  literary  work  which  would  oc 
cupy  her  for  several  months. 

"  Bless  her  heart,"  was  the  comment  of  Theodore 
Fuller.  "She's  finding  out  how  fine  it  is  to  have  a 
steady  job." 

Mr.  Earnshaw  took  most  of  the  work  Janet  had  left 
with  him  and  sent  her  a  check  so  generous  that  she 
fairly  danced  for  joy.  That  night  they  had  ice  cream 
and  orange  sherbet  for  dessert  in  the  Colony,  Janet's 
treat.  When  anybody  had  a  bit  of  unexpected  good 
luck,  it  was  the  rule  that  that  person  should  make  a 
feast  for  the  rest. 

The  great  editor  frowned  a  little  when  he  heard 
of  Janet's  office  work.  He  shook  his  gray  head 
with  decision. 

"  I  don't  like  it,"  he  said.  "  We  do  not  set  a  thor 
oughbred  to  do  the  work  of  a  cart-horse.  You'll  lose 
your  spontaneity,  my  dear.  I'd  rather  you  took  my 
way,  and  went  about  and  got  hold  of  incident  and 
local  color  and  atmosphere.  Fifteen  dollars  a  week  is 
very  well  in  its  place,  but  you  could  make  three  times 
that  money  if  you  became  the  favorite  on  a  big  daily 
paper,  the  one  writer  who  could  be  depended  on 
for  hits  and  paragraphs,  and  the  sort  of  clever  story 
that  only  a  bright-eyed  woman  can  furnish  upon  call." 


1 66  JANE?  WARD 

"Yes,  Mr.  Earnshaw,  but  there  would  be  weeks 
when  I  couldn't  write.  There  are  dull  and  dry  and 
profitless  weeks  when  there  isn't  a  thought  in  my 
brain;  then  I  wouldn't  have  a  cent  to  the  good  at  the 
end  of  the  week." 

"Very  possibly,  but  you  would  have  brilliant 
weeks  to  balance  the  stupid  ones  and  you  would 
learn  to  be  dominant  over  your  moods.  You  would 
discover  as  every  regularly  employed  newspaper 
writer  does,  that  when  you  have  a  thing  to  do,  you 
can  do  it.  Why,  Miss  Ward,  seven  young  women 
out  of  ten  can  help  Josephine  Bliss  on  the  Jewel  just 
as  well  as  you  do,  so  you  are  keeping  one  of  that 
seven  out  of  her  work;  you  can  do  better.  Give  up 
the  profitless  routine.  Trust  in  yourself  and  in 
Providence." 

"  I  will,  Mr.  Earnshaw,  at  the  end  of  six  months, 
after  Miss  Bliss  has  had  her  vacation." 

"  Very  well.  Tell  Miss  Wiburn  that  she  must  look 
out  for  somebody  to  step  in  when  you  step  out. 
Oh,  I  know  Nancy.  She's  another  girl  I'm  vexed 
with,  selling  her  birthright  in  drawing  frocks  and 
hats  and  whimsical  caprices  for  embroidery,  when 
she  should  be  doing  something  big." 

"My  father  says,"  flashed  Janet,  "that  nobody 
ever  does  a  big  thing  well,  who  isn't  able  to  do  a 
hundred  little  things  perfectly." 

That  lazy  office  boy  was  on  Janet's  conscience  too. 
A  girl  with  five  brothers  is  interested  in  boys.  She 
talked  to  him,  found  that  his  mother  was  dead  and 
his  father  had  married  again,  and  that  he  had  a  sort 
of  home  with  a  sister.  Janet  coaxed  him  to  go  to  an 
evening  school,  but  he  was  obdurate.  So  she  took 


IN  AN  EDITOR'S  OFFICE     167 

his  case  to  one  who  was  gradually  becoming  her 
confidant  in  most  things,  Mr.  Fuller. 

"  A  boys'  club  will  be  the  thing  in  his  life  to  rouse 
him  up.  Suppose  you  and  I  go  down  to  Avenue  A 
and  pay  his  sister  a  visit,  Janet.  We  can  then  learn 
something  of  his  home,  and  the  gang  he  goes  with. 
You  consider  Frank  an  honest  boy  ?  " 

"  Honest,  but  not  faithful.  The  very  alphabet  of 
faithfulness  is  unknown  to  him.  He  tries  to  do  as 
little  as  he  possibly  can,  and  he's  always  begging  for 
another  half  dollar  a  week  on  his  wages.  Part  of  his 
duty  is  to  keep  the  office  clean.  I  wish  you  could 
see  how  dirty  it  is." 

"  Boys  have  not  very  high  ideals  of  cleanliness, 
and  Frank's  home  may  not  give  him  any  stimulant 
towards  shining  paint  and  speckless  floors." 

"  Shall  we  ask  any  one  to  go  with  us,  Theodore  ?  " 
said  Janet. 

"No,  please,"  replied  the  young  man  decidedly. 
"  It  is  next  to  scaling  Gibraltar  with  a  step-ladder  to 
get  you  by  yourself  for  an  hour.  Don't  you  suppose 
I  ever  want  to  see  you  alone,  dear  ?  " 

Janet  blushed.  She  was  beginning  to  feel  a  good 
deal  of  pleasure  in  the  occasional  half  hours  which 
she  could  spend  with  Mr.  Fuller,  but  with  a  perver 
sity  which  piqued  him,  she  made  these  half  hours 
very  few.  Janet  was  a  puzzle  to  herself  in  her  feel 
ing  about  this  friend,  and  she  treated  him  more  dis 
tantly  than  she  did  others  who  called  at  the  Colony, 
as  Nancy  and  the  rest  had  named  their  home,  per 
haps  because  she  really  liked  him  better.  She  was 
frankly  genial  with  most  men  as  a  girl  brought  up  on 
equal  terms  with  her  brothers  usually  is,  but  when 


1 68  JANET  WARD 

Theodore  Fuller  became  in  the  least  insistent  she  re 
pelled  him,  by  her  aloofness. 

"  What  does  ail  Janet  to  be  so  mean  to  Mr.  Ful 
ler  ?  "  said  one  of  the  girls,  and  another  echoed  it, 
but  the  good  elder  sister  who  chaperoned  the  crowd 
had  an  explanation  ready. 

"  She's  just  afraid  of  growing  fond  of  him,  and 
he's  a  little  bit  too  timid  with  her." 

"  Yes  and  there's  another  thing;  Janet  has  no  time 
for  love,  she's  so  wrapped  up  in  her  writing.  And 
she's  found  that  she  does  not  like  being  cooped 
up  in  an  office  reading  proof.  I  hope  she'll  drop 
that  irksome  routine  soon." 

The  streets  were  slippery  and  wet  with  a  driving 
rain  when  Janet  made  her  sortie  under  Mr.  Fuller's 
escort  to  find  the  home  of  Frank  Heneage.  When 
they  left  the  car  and  struck  into  Avenue  A  Janet  was 
in  a  very  different  neighborhood  from  that  which 
she  left  up-town.  There  were  saloons  on  the  cor 
ners,  lighted  and  cheery  looking  in  the  eyes  of  men 
whose  homes  were  in  the  stuffy  tenements  that  rose 
high  on  every  side.  Though  the  rain  fell,  young 
men  and  women  were  out,  walking  close  together  in 
intimate  converse.  They  had  no  other  place  than  the 
street  to  do  their  courting  in.  Oddly  enough  the 
thought  that  in  this  the  situation  was  not  unlike  his 
own,  struck  Theodore,  just  as  it  occurred  to  Janet. 
A  warm  flush  mounted  to  her  cheek,  and  his  eyes 
sparkled,  but  neither  told  the  other  the  suggested 
similarity.  Theodore  would  not  have  dared,  and 
Janet  would  have  been  resentful.  One  may  think 
what  one  cannot  translate  into  words.  As  they 
crossed  a  street  a  drunken  man  lurched  heavily  along 


IN  AN  EDITOR'S  OFFICE     169 

and  Theodore,  without  asking  permission,  drew 
Janet's  hand  within  his  arm.  She  smiled  at  the  quick 
and  imperative  motion,  smiled  again,  for  it  was  the 
custom  of  the  quarter.  The  tall  young  man  in  cler 
ical  garb,  and  the  girl  in  rain  coat  and  toque,  were 
walking  along  like  any  other  sweethearts.  Old 
women  in  the  windows,  a  good  many  of  whom 
recognized  Mr.  Fuller,  gazed  after  them  approvingly. 

"  It's  a  foine  lookin'  couple  they'll  make,  Mrs.  Mc- 
Gonigle,"  said  Mrs.  O'Hare  to  her  neighbor,  and  the 
other  nodded  her  head  sagely. 

Frank's  sister's  flat  was  up  three  flights  in  a  rear 
tenement.  She  was  at  home,  alone,  her  babies 
asleep,  her  husband,  as  she  did  not  explain,  at  the 
public  house,  drinking  up  a  score  that  would  count 
heavily  on  his  week's  wages, — her  brother  some 
where  about  the  streets. 

"'Deed  and  it's  meself  is  very  worried  over  the 
bye." 

"Does  Frank  pay  you  any  board?"  asked  Mr. 
Fuller. 

"  He  has  but  five  dollars  a  week,  and  he  gives  me 
three.  The  rest  he  keeps  for  his  clothes  and  his  shoes 
and  carfare  and  lunches." 

"  He  seems  badly  off  for  clothes."  Janet  ventured 
timidly.  Frank  was  threadbare. 

"  Well,  he  do  be  wasting  too  much  of  his  money; 
he  has  no  mother,  and  he'll  not  be  moinding  me." 

"With  two  dollars  a  week  for  himself  he  should 
be  tidy  and  comfortable."  Janet  recalled  that  it  had 
never  cost  so  much  to  clothe  her  nice  clean  whole 
some  brothers.  Vividly  the  country  boys,  children 
of  a  Christian  home,  rose  up  in  contrast  with  this 


I  yo  JANET  WARD 

pale,  sharp-featured  and  indolent  Frank.  She  was 
sure  that  her  father  and  mother  would  have  known 
what  to  do  with  him.  She  didn't.  But  Mr.  Fuller 
was  tackling  this  job. 

"  It's  simply  this,"  Mr.  Fuller's  pleasant  voice  was 
as  respectful  as  if  he  were  addressing  the  first  lady  in 
the  land.  "Miss  Ward  has  been  watching  Frank, 
and  she  thinks  that  he  isn't  getting  on  well.  We 
want  to  help  him  to  help  himself.  Will  he  come  round 
to  the  Friendly  Settlement  and  join  in  our  work  ?  We 
could  get  him  into  the  Citizens'  Club  or  the  Young 
Americans,  and  he  wouldn't  spend  evenings  hanging 
around  low  theatres;  I'm  afraid  that  is  what  he  is 
doing  now." 

Janet  looked  around.  This  was  a  three  room 
home,  the  middle  room  where  the  sister  and  her  hus 
band  slept  was  dark  and  ill  ventilated.  A  mattress 
was  spread  on  the  floor  for  Frank,  at  night,  in  the 
kitchen.  The  sacred  best  room,  pride  of  the  good 
woman's  heart  had  an  ingrain  carpet  on  the  floor,  a 
whatnot  on  which  were  vases  and  cheap  china  orna 
ments,  a  marble  topped  table,  and  four  chairs;  a  plush 
covered  rocker  and  a  lamp  with  a  gaudy  shade,  com 
pleted  the  furnishing.  In  good  times  this  little  room 
was  as  an  altar  to  its  mistress.  In  poor  times  when 
her  man  was  out  of  work,  the  little  ornaments,  one 
by  one,  went  to  the  pawn  shop,  and  were  pledged 
for  a  few  pennies.  Frank  Heneage,  in  the  office 
where  he  was  employed,  and  where  he  received 
orders  from  ladies,  and  did  errands  for  such  gentle 
men  as  were  in  the  offices,  adjoining  that  of  the 
Jewel,  had  acquired  a  refinement  of  manner  that 
could  never  have  come  from  his  home.  But  he  was 


IN  AN  EDITOR'S  OFFICE     171 

the  product  of  his  environment.  He  had  slept  in  bad 
air,  eaten  poor  food,  and  played  in  the  streets  so  long 
that  he  was  idle  in  disposition,  languid  in  physique, 
and  self-indulgent  through  lack  of  training.  Yet, 
when  Janet  and  Theodore  met  him  on  their  way  out, 
his  face  lighted  with  pleasure,  and  he  thanked  them 
warmly  for  coming.  It  made  him  feel  prouder. 

"The  boy's  worth  saving,"  said  Theodore. 

When  they  reached  home,  everybody  but  Nancy 
had  gone  to  bed.  She  was  sitting  up  with  her 
chafing-dish,  and  she  proceeded  to  concoct  an  oyster 
stew.  Janet  slipped  away  and  changed  her  dress  for 
one  of  soft  white  wool,  with  touches  of  blue  in  the 
garniture.  Blue  matched  her  eyes.  Nancy  busied 
herself  with  the  spirit  lamp,  and  bustled  about  making 
preparations  for  a  little  supper. 

"  You  two  stay  in  the  drawing-room  till  I  call  you," 
she  said. 

"  Let  me  help  you,  dear,"  called  Janet. 

"No,  you  would  be  in  the  way."  She  disap 
peared. 

"Janet,  in  that  gown,  you  make  me  think  of  the 
manse,  and  the  girl  I  sometimes  said  good-bye  to  at 
the  gate.  I  am  always  saying  good-bye  to  you.  I 
wish  I  might  hope  you  would  some  time  say  come." 

"I'll  say  it  now,  come  to  supper,"  she  answered 
laughingly.  "Why,  Theodore!  " 

He  detained  her  a  moment.  "  It's  earnest  with  me, 
Janet.  Don't  always  put  me  off,  and  play  with  me. 
You  are  very  capricious." 

"Nobody  ever  said  so  before." 

"  I  want  to  please  you,  Janet. 

"  Well,  then  don't  be  too  serious." 


172          JANET:  WARD 

On  the  table  beside  Janet's  plate  lay  letters,  the 
evening  mail.  One  from  her  father,  one  from  her 
mother,  another  from  Miss  Prescott,  a  fourth  from 
Belle  Nelson. 

"I'll  not  read  them  all  till  to-morrow,"  she  said. 
"  If  you'll  allow  me  I'll  open  mother's  to  see  if  they 

are  all  well.  Yes "  glancing  hurriedly  through  it. 

"  She  sends  her  love  to  every  one,  including  you,  sir. 
Now  I  wonder  why  she  should  do  that  ?" 

Theodore  took  the  teasing  fingers  that  she  shook  at 
him,  and  lifted  them  to  his  lips.  The  more  provo 
king  she  was,  the  more  he  was  determined  to  win  her 
for  his  own,  this  little  lady  of  contradictions. 


XIII 

A  GIRL  COLONY 

IT  was  not  only  in  acts  of  kindness  that  Janet's 
days  flew,   nor  did  her  sole  duty  as  editor's  as 
sistant  lie  in  taking  care  that  her  chief  was  not 
interrupted.     Gradually  she  assumed  more  and  more 
duties,  until  her  work  included  writing  short  leaders, 
and  answering  correspondence,  as  well  as  attending 
to  subordinate  details.     Every  efficient  worker  goes 
through  this  experience.     As  one  is  proved  capable 
and  worthy,  opportunities  increase. 

A  question  came  up  one  day,  in  the  publishing  de 
partment  of  the  house  which  issued  the  Jewel,  as  to 
the  merits  of  a  book,  that  had  been  presented  for 
approval,  and  about  which  the  readers  disagreed. 
When  two  excellent  judges  of  a  book  offer  opinions 
that  are  contradictory  in  sentiment,  publishers  are 
puzzled.  The  book  was  about  college  life  for  girls, 
and  Janet  happened  to  pass  through  the  counting 
room  while  it  was  under  consideration. 

"There  is  Miss  Ward.  She  knows  a  good  deal 
about  this  subject,  and  will  be  able  to  tell  us  whether 
this  is  or  is  not  a  fair  description  of  the  college  of 
to-day;  let  her  read  it,"  said  one  of  the  gentlemen, 
and  the  request  was  made.  Janet  did  the  work  de 
lightedly.  She  not  only  enjoyed  the  function  of  a 
critic,  but  found  herself  able  to  tell  why  she  liked  or 
did  not  like  the  story,  and  to  forecast  its  success  with 

»73 


174  JANET  WARD 

the  portion  of  the  reading  public  to  whom  it  would 
appeal.  And  she  was  able  to  do  her  work  quickly. 
The  result  was  that  in  a  few  months,  she  was  able  to 
resign  her  post  in  the  office,  and  accept  another,  that 
of  reader  to  the  house,  one  of  the  staff  who  decided 
upon  books  that  were  sent  in  by  the  ever-increasing 
world  of  writers.  This  did  not  come  until  by  re 
peated  occasional  services,  she  had  proved  her  fitness. 
Then  the  publishers  had  said, 

"It  is  easy  to  procure  another  assistant  on  the 
Jewel,  and  here  is  a  young  woman  who  can  give  us 
what  we  seek  in  another  department." 

So  that  without  her  asking,  the  new  work  was 
opened  to  Janet.  The  first  suggestion  was  that  she 
do  it  at  a  desk  in  the  office,  but  she  was  averse  to 
undertaking  there,  seriously,  work  that  required 
analysis,  insight,  and  reflection,  and  she  stipulated 
that  she  should  do  it  at  home. 

Now,  for  Janet,  began  what  she  afterwards  referred 
to  as  her  Bag  Days.  Every  evening,  a  messenger 
left  at  her  door,  a  bulky  leather  bag,  securely  locked. 
When  opened,  out  from  its  capacious  depths,  came 
thick  typewritten  manuscripts  or  others  less  legible, 
written  in  script,  sometimes  black  and  firm,  some 
times  pale  and  indistinct;  advance  sheets  of  volumes 
to  be  issued  on  the  other  side  of  the  ocean,  and  the 
various  flotsam  and  jetsam  that  comes  to  a  publish 
ing  house.  Each  morning  the  same  messenger 
called,  to  take  away  the  books  which  Janet  had  read, 
with  her  opinions  thereof,  and  now  began  for  her, 
another  grind,  different  from,  but  not  less  exacting 
than  the  one  she  had  left. 

"I  am  reading,"  she  wrote  to  her  father,  "about 


A  GIRL  COLONT  175 

ten  books  a  week,  never  less,  often  more.  Poetry, 
philosophy,  history,  finance,  fiction,  whatever  hap 
pens  along,  comes  to  my  hand,  and  I  make  an  at 
tempt  to  say  something  intelligent  about  it.  But  you 
know  there  are  limits  to  my  ability." 

"I  should  think  so,"  ejaculated  Mr.  Ward,  in  the 
silence  of  his  study.  "What  can  the  child  know  of 
finance  or  philosophy  ?  I  wish  she  would  grow  tired 
of  New  York,  and  come  home.  Darling!  "  he  called 
to  his  wife,  who  was  busy  about  her  work  down 
stairs,  "come  up  here  and  talk  awhile." 

And  the  two  had  a  talk  which  ended  in  a  prayer. 

Janet  was  often  comforted  and  strengthened  when 
she  was  tired  out  by  continuous  mental  effort,  by 
the  knowledge  that,  at  least,  twice  a  day,  in  the 
Tennessee  manse,  she  was  remembered  by  name  in 
prayer.  When  wafts  of  peace  and  blessing  come  to 
any  of  us,  we  know  not  how,  may  it  not  be  that 
some  one  God  loves,  is  interceding  for  us  ? 

In  the  busy  hive  where  Janet  had  a  cell,  every  girl 
was  a  toiler.  Most  of  them  had  gone  through  the 
preliminary  stages  of  searching  and  choosing,  and 
had  settled  upon  the  wage-earning  work  for  which 
she  was  suited.  Most  of  these  girls  had,  also,  as 
Janet  had  not,  having  had  Nancy  for  her  pioneer, 
gone  through  the  forlorn  quest  for  a  foothold  in 
some  decently  comfortable  boarding  house.  No 
young  woman,  coming,  a  stranger,  to  a  great  city, 
who  has  undertaken  this  struggle  for  a  place  within 
her  means  and  not  too  remote  from  her  work,  but 
knows  how  dreary  it  is,  and  how  her  heart  sinks  as 
she  prosecutes  her  search.  Armed  with  a  list,  fur 
nished  by  the  Young  Woman's  Christian  Association, 


1 76  JANE?  WARD 

or  culled  from  the  advertising  columns  of  the  news 
papers,  the  girl  sets  forth.  On  the  outside,  a  board 
ing  house  may  look  not  less  agreeable  nor  more 
repellent  than  a  private  house  where  a  family  is 
making  a  home.  But,  once  within  the  doors,  board 
ing  houses  are  singularly  alike  and  peculiarly  unsym 
pathetic  and  impersonal  in  their  aspect.  Nothing 
more  depressing  than  the  drawing-room  of  a  board 
ing  house  can  be  imagined,  with  its  air  of  tarnished 
and  faded  state,  its  long  floor  space  covered  with  a 
carpet  on  which  geometrical  figures  or  great  garlands 
of  roses  predominate,  its  tables  at  intervals,  its  sets 
of  furniture  in  hair-cloth  or  rep,  and  its  pictures 
which  suggest  the  auction  room  or  the  bargain 
counter.  The  girl  mounts  the  steps  to  the  front 
door,  and  is  admitted  to  this  reception  room,  by  a 
boy  in  buttons  or  a  neat  maid,  as  it  happens,  and  her 
heart  sinks  to  her  shoes  with  the  ticking  of  the  clock 
on  the  mantel.  In  her  modest  purse,  she  has  a  cer 
tain  sum.  She  knows,  to  a  penny,  how  much  she 
can  afford  to  spend  for  board  and  lodging,  and  if  it 
is  anywhere  from  seven  to  ten  dollars  a  week,  she 
fancies  it  ought  to  insure  her  a  room  of  moderate 
size,  warmed  and  lighted,  and  the  comforts  of  a 
home.  In  the  country  village,  from  whence  the 
young  girl  came,  five  dollars  a  week  would  have 
gone  far  to  this  end.  But  in  New  York,  she  dis 
covers  that  for  her,  few  doors  are  hospitably  open. 
She  is  much  less  welcome  than  her  brother  would  be, 
and  unless  she  is  willing  to  share  a  room  with 
another  girl,  her  choice  is  limited.  Indeed,  it  nar 
rows  itself  to  a  choice  between  hall  bedrooms  in  differ 
ent  localities,  almost  in  variably,  three  or  four  flights  up. 


A  GIRL  COLONT  177 

From  the  necessities  of  the  case,  a  few  years  ago, 
the  crowds  of  young  women  drawn  to  the  city  by 
the  demands  of  study  or  work,  began  to  found  their 
girl  colonies,  of  which  many  are  now  in  flourishing 
existence.  They  are  carried  on  along  cooperative 
lines.  A  number  of  girls,  congenial  in  tastes  and  of 
similar  upbringing,  combine,  rent  an  apartment,  fur 
nish  it  as  best  they  can,  and  go  to  housekeeping. 
One  of  them  has  a  mother  or  an  aunt  who  is  at 
liberty  to  give  her  presence  as  chaperone;  and  a 
dozen  girls  settle  down  into  a  life  that  is  at  once 
stimulating,  charming,  and  comparatively  inexpen 
sive,  as  the  cost  of  everything  is  rigidly  footed  up 
and  precisely  divided  between  the  residents. 

Furniture  is  odd  and  incongruous,  for  part  of  it 
comes  out  of  grandmothers'  garrets,  some  from  girls' 
own  rooms  at  home,  and  a  part  from  the  rum 
maging  of  second  hand  shops.  Girls  are  quick  in 
accommodating  themselves  to  their  environment,  and 
they  have  a  genius  for  makeshifts.  An  old  kitchen 
stove  does  duty  as  a  dressing  table,  masquerading 
under  ruffles  and  frills;  a  bath  tub  is  covered  with  a 
board  and  a  rug,  during  the  day,  and  thus  furnishes 
a  seat  for  the  girl  who  has  drawing  or  writing;  a 
divan  is,  of  course,  an  honorable  sofa,  by  day,  and 
a  comfortable  bed  by  night. 

Janet  felt  as  if  she  were  back  at  Lucas,  when,  at 
the  table,  she  saw  several  of  her  old  classmates  daily; 
when  Nancy's  room  was  next  hers;  and  Miss  Pres- 
cott,  tarrying  in  town  for  a  few  days,  was  tucked 
away  in  a  cozy  corner,  and  made  as  much  of  as  if 
she  had  been  a  queen.  In  a  girl  colony  there  is  end 
less  elasticity;  room  for  one  more  may  always  be 


1 78  JANET  WARD 

counted  on,  and  the  table  may  be  relied  on,  to  pro 
vide  space  for  another  plate. 

Nancy  had  a  studio  in  a  building  down-town,  and 
was  taking  orders  for  pictures  and  for  something  still 
more  interesting,  the  decoration  and  proper  furnish 
ing  of  artistic  homes.  People  told  her  how  much 
money  they  wished  to  spend,  and  she  undertook  to 
make  their  houses  beautiful,  giving  them  the  benefit 
of  her  trained  eye  and  taste. 

Elizabeth  Evans  said,  when  hearing  that  a  many 
times  millionaire  had  given  Nancy  a  contract  to  take 
entire  charge  of  the  interior  of  his  new  country 
house  on  the  Sound, 

"What  did  I  tell  mother,  Janet,  long  ago?  Don't 
you  remember  ?  I  said  that  Nancy  would  be  at  the 
top  of  the  ladder,  long  before  the  rest  of  us." 

Elizabeth  was  in  town  to  buy  her  trousseau.  She 
was  to  be  married  to  her,  far  away  cousin  Tom,  who 
had  given  up  other  plans  and  become  partner  in  the 
mills.  One  night,  the  girl  colony  invited  her,  and 
her  mother,  and  her  great  Aunt  Sarah,  to  dinner,  a 
new  experience  to  them,  though  they  had  been  at 
fine  entertainments  in  their  time.  The  china  was 
pretty,  though  bizarre;  the  girls'  supply  of  silver  was 
strictly  individual,  but  their  plated  ware  made  a  brave 
show,  and  their  dinner  was  delicately  cooked  and 
plentiful,  as  it  needed  to  be,  for  working  girls  have 
healthy  appetites. 

In  the  evening,  after  dinner  was  over,  friends 
dropped  in,  quite  informally,  and  they  had  music 
and  a  good  deal  of  bright  conversation.  Janet's 
nightly  bag  came  in  for  a  moment's  scrutiny  as  the 
ladies  were  donning  their  wraps  to  go  home. 


A  GIRL  COLONT  179 

"Haven't  you  opened  it  yet?"  said  Mrs. 
Evans. 

"No,  I  thought  I'd  wait  until  morning." 

"  I  would  look,  if  I  were  you,  Janet,"  said  Nancy. 

She  did,  and  was  glad  she  had  followed  the  advice, 
for  there  was  a  thin  printed  volume  marked 
"Special,"  and  a  request  for  an  opinion  by  to-morrow 
morning. 

"How  can  you  do  it?"  Great-aunt  Sarah,  who 
belonged  to  the  era  when  women  did  everything  in 
a  leisurely  and  elegant  way,  was  simply  aghast  at 
such  haste. 

"Oh,"  said  Janet,  "one  can  always  do  what 
must  be  done,  but  I'll  sleep  on  it.  I'll  get  up  very 
early  to-morrow  morning.  My  literary  opinion 
would  be  worth  nothing  to-night." 

"  Well,  the  girls  of  the  present  day  are  a  good  deal 
in  advance  of  the  girls  of  my  generation,"  was  Great- 
aunt  Sarah's  comment,  as  she  stepped  into  the  car 
riage  that  waited  to  convey  her  party  home. 

One  morning  the  letters  beside  Janet's  plate  at 
breakfast,  were  two  that  possessed  a  deeper  than 
common  interest  for  her.  The  first  was  from  her 
friend,  Mr.  Fuller,  announcing  his  call  to  a  down 
town  church.  Hitherto,  he  had  been  engaged  in 
misson  work  and  as  a  pastor's  assistant,  now,  he 
was  to  be  a  pastor,  with  a  parish  having  definite 
claims  on  his  most  strenuous  endeavor.  He  had 
decided  to  accept  the  call,  and  his  whole  heart  was 
in  the  new  and  waiting  field.  Janet's  own  pulses 
throbbed  more  quickly  as  she  read  his  words.  Be 
tween  the  lines  she  felt  the  note  of  confidence,  almost 
too  assured,  that  whatever  he  should  do,  was  of 


i8o          JANET: 

great  interest  and  concern  to  her.  The  second  letter 
was  from  Belle  Nelson. 

"Nancy,"  called  Janet,  "Theodore  is  to  be  pastor 
of  the  church  in  M—  -  Street.  I'm  glad.  Aren't 
you  ?  " 

"Very  glad.  He's  served  a  faithful  apprentice 
ship.  He'll  bring  his  best  endeavors  to  bear  on 
whatever  he  undertakes.  And  I'm  glad  too,  for  you, 
my  dear.  I  believe  the  Lord  meant  you  to  be  a 
minister's  wife." 

"For  the  present  it  is  enough  that  I  am  a  minister's 
daughter;  I'm  not  sufficiently  consecrated,  yet,  for  the 
other  situation.  And  I  think  an  unmarried  minister 
is  much  the  more  popular.  A  wife  may  be  a  help, 
but  she  may  be  also  a  handicap.  The  ministers  I've 
seen,  Nancy,  who  might  have  stayed  in  one  congrega 
tion  all  their  days,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  their 
wives!  " 

"Mr.  Fuller,"  said  a  young  lady  who  was  sitting 
in  a  corner  of  the  room,  busy  with  some  needlework, 
and  whom  neither  of  the  others  had  observed,  "is 
said  to  be  engaged  to  a  young  lady  in  Charlotte, 
Virginia.  I  heard  it  at  the  springs,  last  summer. 
He's  devoted  to  her,  my  friends  told  me,  and  writes 
to  her  every  day.  If  he  marries  a  Southerner,  she'll 
captivate  his  people.  They  are  so  fascinating,  those 
sweet  voiced  Southern  girls,  with  their  gentle,  de 
pendent  ways." 

"Ways  that  are  superficial,  so  far  as  dependence 
goes,"  said  Nancy,  speaking  rapidly.  "For  pluck, 
energy,  and  resolution,  for  downright  ability  to  take 
care  of  herself,  and  the  talent,  the  genius  for  getting 
on  in  the  world,  commend  me  to  the  Southern 


A  GIRL  COLONT  181 

woman.  The  Western,  the  New  England,  even  the 
New  York  girl  is  manifestly  her  inferior  in  the  quali 
ties  that  command  success.  Every  man  she  meets 
serves  her,  and  the  apparent  challenge  she  makes  on 
his  chivalry  is  a  factor  in  her  reaching  of  the  goal. 
Those  Southern  women  are  very  winning,  and  are  no 
novelty  to  Mr.  Fuller,  but  I  don't  think  he's  engaged 
to  one  of  them." 

"I  have  a  letter,"  said  Janet  composedly,  "from  a 
friend  who  knew  Mr.  Fuller  before  I  did.  And  that's 
why  I  want  to  consult  you,  Nancy.  Belle  tells  me 
that  she  is  coming  to  New  York  to  stop  for  a  few 
days  before  going  abroad.  Do  you  think  we  could 
manage  to  put  her  up  here?" 

They  turned  themselves  into  a  committee  of  ways 
and  means,  and  finally  arranged  that  Janet  should 
room  with  Nancy  and  give  up  her  quarters  to  Belle. 
The  girl  who  had  told  them  of  Theodore  Fuller's 
supposed  engagement,  meanwhile,  picked  up  her 
belongings  and  hurried  off  to  keep  an  appointment 
with  a  teacher  of  design. 

"I  am  going  to  England  and  France  for  six 
months,"  wrote  Mrs.  Nelson,  "to  join  my  cousins, 
who  are  residing,  at  present,  in  Surrey,  and  to  travel 
with  them.  1  have  had  doubts  about  leaving  the  chil 
dren,  but  my  dear  father  insists  upon  it,  and  as  they  are 
under  the  care  of  a  dear  Aunt  May,  who  is  very  fond 
of  them,  and  of  the  good  old  Mammy  Lucy,  who 
brought  me  up,  I  shall  leave  them  in  very  good 
care.  As  for  myself,  I  have  reached  a  crisis  where 
I  must  rest  or  die.  I  am  here  in  my  old  sweet  home, 
with  my  girlhood's  friends  around  me,  yet  I  am 
wretched.  I  pine  for  the  cabin  on  the  hillside,  and  I 


1 82  JANE?  WARD 

seem  to  hear  Tim  calling  me  from  the  shadowy 
woods.  I  have  grown  morbid." 

"Fiddlesticks!"  ejaculated  Nancy.  "I  thought 
she  had  more  sense.  Tim! "  she  muttered  with  con 
tempt.  "Tim!  Why,  he  abused  her." 

"He  is  dead,  dear,  and  therefore  helpless.  Don't 
let's  mention  him.  But  Belle  is  idealizing  him.  She 
is  weaving  a  halo  round  him  that  would  make  him 
uncomfortable,  if  he  were  alive.  It  would  be  such  a 
fearful  misfit.  We'll  proceed.  Belle  goes  on, 

"A  few  weeks  ago,  the  desire  for  the  mountains 
so  overmastered  me,  that  I  left  the  children  with 
mammy,  and  went  to  see  Tim's  mother.  I  stayed 
with  her  a  week.  You  know,  Janet,  she  was  always 
very  kind  to  me.  She  was  pleased  to  have  me  come, 
but  a  bit  relieved  when  I  went  away.  I  don't  belong 
to  her  world  any  more,  and  I  think  I  needn't  try  to 
fancy  that  I  do.  I  shall  let  her  see  the  children, 
sometimes,  but  she  flatly  refuses  to  leave  her  home, 
and  visit  me,  and  I  couldn't  make  her  happy  while 
I  am  in  my  father's  house.  Being  so  near,  I  went  to 
see  your  father  and  mother,  Janet,  and  I  spent  a  Sab 
bath  in  the  manse." 

Janet  softly  clapped  her  hands. 

"Go  on,  do,  child,"  said  Nancy. 

"The  manse  is  queer  without  you,  but  you  should 
peep  in  unsuspected  and  see  your  father  and  mother. 
Lovers  always,  of  course,  they  are  more  the  devoted 
pair  now  than  ever.  Mrs.  Ward  is  not  very  strong. 
I  fancied  her  more  willowy  and  whiter  than  she  used 
to  be,  yet  she  protested  that  she  was  well,  and 
certainly  she  was  cheerful.  Your  dear  father  is  busy, 
working  tremendously,  full  of  a  passion  for  soul- 


A  GIRL  COLONT  183 

saving,  and  how  the  mountain  men  love  him.  He 
can  do  what  he  likes  with  them.  Two  of  your 
brothers  were  there,  sturdy  and  fine  laddies.  One  of 
them,  Ralph  1  think,  says  he  is  going  to  be  a  farmer, 
and  live  on  the  land;  he  is  not  so  bookish  as  the  rest 
of  you,  and  Mr.  Ward  is  going  to  buy  him  a  saw 
mill.  Mr.  Ward  helped  me,  Janet.  He  seems  to 
understand  my  feelings,  and  he  does  not  think  me 
wicked.  I  put  up  a  little  stone  at  poor  Tim's  grave, 
saw  that  our  old  house  was  secure  from  wind  and 
weather,  and  came  away.  I'll  find  a  tenant  for  it  by 
and  by.  You  know  your  father  has  taken  a  good 
deal  of  interest  in  some  of  those  very  poorest  people 
who  live  near  the  mines,  and  he's  had  a  good  many 
weddings  among  them.  I  am  rambling  along.  I 
came  back  and  found  that  Doctor  Huntoon  had  been 
writing  to  my  father  that  I  needed  change  and  must 
break  from  my  old  moorings,  for  awhile.  So  I'm 
going  to  Europe.  And,  as  I'm  homesick  for  you, 
and  wish  to  see  what  a  girl  colony  is  like,  I  want  to 
be  your  guest.  By  the  way,  I  hope  I  shall  see  all  the 
other  friends,  when  I  am  there." 

"Janet,  what  Ruth  Adams,  who  always  gets  things 
wrong,  said  about  Theodore's  engagement  is  a  mistake. 
I'm  sure  he  would  tell  us  so,  if  we  should  ask  him." 

Janet  smiled.  "I  do  not  think  it  concerns  us, 
Nancy.  If  he  chooses  to  be  silent  about  it,  why 
should  we  investigate  ?  Ruth  spoke  very  convinc 
ingly."  Janet  in  her  heart  knew  it  was  a  mistake. 

"Probably  it  is  another  of  the  Fuller  boys,  of 
whom  she  heard,"  continued  Nancy. 

"It  does  not  at  all  matter  to  me,"  replied  Janet, 
decidedly.  Here  too  she  was  perverse. 


1 84          JANET: 

"It  should,  my  dear,"  maintained  Nancy.  "For 
you  and  Theodore  have  been  such  friends." 

"Friends  I  hope  we  shall  remain,"  said  Janet  with 
dignity,  as  though  to  close  the  subject.  "Now,  for 
my  Bag  of  Fortunatus.  I  wonder  what  treasure 
trove  I'll  chance  upon,  to-day.  By  the  by,  I  am  en 
gaged  by  the  Tribune  to  report  the  Federation  meet 
ings,  Nancy.  Did  I  tell  you  ?" 

"  Are  you,  indeed  ?  That's  a  good  beginning  in 
journalistic  work,  Janet." 

"I  shall  do  my  best.  I  hope,  Nancy,  that  Belle 
Nelson  was  mistaken  in  thinking  mother  not  quite 
well.  It  may  be  that  I  ought  to  give  up  everything, 
and  run  away  home." 


XIV 

DISAPPOINT  MEN!  AND  HOPE  DEFERRED 

AT  the  appointed  time,  Belle  Nelson  arrived, 
and  before  she  had  spent  two  days  in  their 
company,  every  girl  in  Janet's  circle  was  at 
her  feet.  Belle's  beauty,  which  the  hardships  and 
sufferings  of  her  wifehood  had  scarcely  eclipsed,  had 
bloomed  out  superbly  since  she  had  again  entered 
upon  the  life  that  was  hers  by  right  of  birth.  She 
was  dressed  in  black,  with  white  at  throat  and 
wrists,  and  a  narrow  white  border,  indicating  her 
widow's  estate,  in  her  hat,  but  she  had  discarded  a 
long  crape  veil,  and  wore  only  a  short  one  over  her 
face.  Her  carriage,  always  fine,  gave  her  a  marked 
distinction.  People  turned  to  look  after  her  on  the 
street.  She  was  in  the  flower  of  woman's  finest  age, 
not  quite  thirty,  and  though  she  thought  her  story 
was  ended,  it  was,  in  very  truth,  just  beginning. 
For  Janet,  she  brought  photographs  of  her  little 
Donald  and  of  Janet's  namesake,  and  what  Janet  was 
sure  to  prize  most,  a  picture  of  the  two  dearest  ones 
at  the  manse,  taken  by  her  own  camera. 

"Your  mother  needs  you,"  she  said,  when  they 
were  sitting  together  in  Janet's  room  in  dressing- 
gown  and  slippers,  in  that  confidential  hour  of  brush 
ing  hair,  and  getting  ready  for  bed,  when  women 
are  wont  to  grow  familiar  and  intimate.  "No,  she 
didn't  send  the  message,  and  she  wouldn't  tell  you 

185 


1 86  JANEr  WARD 

herself,  but  you'll  have  to  go  to  her  soon,  dear,  for 
awhile,  at  least." 

"  Father  has  written  of  nothing  alarming." 

"There  is  nothing  alarming.  There  is  a  wanness, 
a  shrinking,  an  etherealization,  Janet,  that  I  don't  like. 
I'll  tell  you  what  I  would  think  ideal.  Go  for  the 
little  mother,  and  bring  her  here,  if  you  cannot  leave 
your  work.  I  see  how  absorbing  the  work  is,  yet 
Janet,  we  never  have  a  mother  twice." 

"She  wouldn't  care  for  this,  the  strain  would  tire 
her.  She  couldn't  bear  the  intensity  of  it.  This  life 
here,  with  all  the  girls  going  and  coming,  the  effer 
vescence  and  jollity  and  the  stir  of  all  that  is  happen 
ing  would  not  suit  mother." 

Janet  rose  and  paced  the  floor.  It  was  a  trick  she 
had  caught  from  her  father  long  ago.  The  room 
was  small,  so  she  could  not  walk  far  before  turning. 

"You  make  me  think  of  a  caged  up  thing,  Janet; 
sit  down,  please." 

"Pardon  me,  Belle  dear,  it's  been  this  way  from 
the  very  earliest  days  of  my  recollection.  We  have 
all  always  thought  first  of  the  little  mother.  Father 
would  say  when  we  were  children,  '  Cannot  you  re 
lieve  your  mother?'  She  has  been  the  pivot  of  the 
household  machinery.  Now  my  earnings  are  increas 
ing,  Belle,  and  I  am  just  where  I  have  conquered  a 
good  starting  point.  What  I  make  helps  them  down 
there.  With  father's  hard  work  and  his  indifference 
to  money  they  have  always  had  to  skimp  and  scrape, 
till  I  learned  almost  to  loathe  economy.  I  am  able  to 
do  so  much  for  mother  here,  I  shall  be  able  to  do  so 
much  less  if  I  make  a  break.  Do  you  see  ?  " 

"  I  see,"  said  Belle,  and  changed  the  subject.    Lying 


DISAPPOINTMENT          187 

awake  that  night,  it  returned  to  her  hauntingly.  She 
felt  though  she  could  not  altogether  explain  it  that  if 
Janet  did  not  go  back  to  the  manse,  she  would  be 
sorry.  Belle  had  learned  to  dread  the  aftermath  of 
sorrow.  Yet  surely  Janet's  father  would  send  for 
her  if  she  ought  to  go  home. 

New  York  was  a  delight  to  Belle.  She  enjoyed  the 
panoramic  streets,  the  park,  the  crowds  which  were 
processional  from  morning  till  night,  the  tall  build 
ings,  the  elevated  roads,  and  the  museums  and  art 
galleries.  Her  stay  was  brief,  but  it  was  crowded 
with  pleasures,  and  she  was  long  enough  in  town  to 
accompany  the  rest  of  his  friends  to  Mr.  Fuller's  in 
stallation. 

Janet  had  not  abated  her  kindness  of  manner  to  the 
young  clergyman,  but  she  was  more  than  ever  elusive. 
When  he  called  she  was  busy  or  absent-minded  or 
absorbed,  and  she  managed  subtly  and  intangibly  to 
put  their  intercourse  on  a  plane  that  had  a  certain  re 
moteness.  Her  attitude  baffled  and  puzzled  him  for 
there  was  nothing  in  it  of  which  he  could  complain 
and  yet  it  was  as  chilling  as  if  she  had  been  a  snow 
maiden  with  daily  reinforcements  from  the  pole. 
Being  proud,  and  a  hater  of  injustice,  he  resented  her 
behavior,  and  yet  knew  not  how  to  show  displeasure, 
for  he  was  quietly  placed  where  he  had  no  rights. 
Meanwhile,  Janet  was  much  more  cordial  than  here 
tofore  to  several  other  men  who  were  in  their  circle, 
and  she  gave  a  quite  flattering  attention  to  a  young 
physician  who  had  been  a  chum  of  Mr.  Fuller's 
brother  Frank  at  college. 

"What  she  sees  in  Ed  Caldwell,"  thought  Theo 
dore  ruefully,  "  I  cannot  fathom.  I  am  sure  Janet  is 


i88          JANET:  WARD 

not  a  coquette.  I  don't  like  to  think  that  she  is  merely 
amusing  herself  with  us  all." 

The  fact  was  that  as  yet  Janet's  heart  had  not  been 
deeply  touched  by  any  one.  She  had  given  no  real 
credence  to  Ruth's  bit  of  gossip,  but  it  had  sown 
in  her  mind  the  thistle  seed  of  a  doubt.  How  little, 
she  said  to  herself,  did  she  know  of  Mr.  Fuller's 
past;  or  how  many  young  women  he  had  known 
before  he  had  met  her;  she  did  not  believe  him  en 
gaged,  but  she  fancied  that  he  might  have  some  very 
intimate  old  friend  to  whom  he  wrote,  from  whom 
he  heard.  It  was  an  evidence  of  love  if  she  had 
chosen  to  recognize  it,  that  she  was  furious  at  the 
thought  of  this,  and  angry  that  she  had  allowed  him 
to  say  now  and  then  a  tender  word  to  her.  Nancy 
looking  on,  thought  Janet  very  cross  and  wrong, 
and  said  so  to  Mrs.  Nelson  and  to  Elizabeth  Evans, 
but  the  former  advised  standing  aside.  "  Leave 
them  to  settle  their  own  affairs,  it  will  surely  come 
out  right,"  she  said. 

Janet  was  sipping  the  sweetest  cup  that  can  come 
to  the  lips  of  youth,  the  cup  of  a  swift  literary  suc 
cess.  Not  long  was  she  to  spend  her  time  plodding 
through  the  pages  of  drearily  platitudinal  essays,  and 
abortive  fiction,  it  would  soon  be  too  valuable  for 
this,  and  it  was  evident  that  space  writing  on  a  daily 
was  also  too  slow  and  too  dissipating  a  task  for  her. 
Mr.  Earnshaw  sent  for  her;  she  found  him  in  his  den, 
enveloped  as  usual  in  a  cloud  of  smoke,  out  of  which 
his  face  beamed  in  friendly  welcome.  He  addressed 
her  like  a  father  and  an  autocrat  combined. 

"My  child,  you  must  get  away  from  New  York, 
from  the  grind  of  the  mechanical  work  you  are  do- 


DISAPPOINTMENT          189 

ing,  you  must  set  yourself  to  writing  stories;  seri 
ously  you  are  wasting  your  youth.  Go  somewhere 
to  the  country,  shut  yourself  up,  and  be  true  to  your 
better  self." 

Coming  out  of  Mr.  Earnshaw's  office  at  the  very 
corner  where  once  she  had  met  Mr.  Fuller,  she  met 
him  again.  That  corner  seemed  fateful  in  their  des 
tiny.  As  she  saw  him  she  would  have  turned  away, 
but  he  lifted  his  hat  and  joined  her.  There  had  come 
over  him  a  determination  to  have  the  thing  out  with 
her,  whatever  it  was,  and  when  a  man  makes  up  his 
mind  to  that  cause,  a  woman  he  loves  has  no  escape, 
she  may  as  well  yield  gracefully  to  the  inevitable. 

"I  am  heartily,  thoroughly  happy  over  that  last 
story  of  yours,  Janet,"  he  began.  "It  is  fine,  it 
shows  thought,  genius;  there  is  something  in  it 
which  is  of  the  spirit,  which  I  always  knew  was  in 
you.  I  cannot  begin  to  tell  you,  dear,  how  pleased  I 
am,  and  how  proud  that  everybody  is  talking  about 
you." 

They  were  walking  across  the  City  Hall  Park. 
Though  crowds  were  all  around,  the  two  were  just 
then  as  isolated  as  if  in  the  middle  of  a  desert. 

Janet  had  melted  at  his  praise.  Praise  is  always 
welcome.  But  she  froze  when  he  said  dear.  He 
observed  it,  and  boldly  charged  against  her  fortress. 

"Janet,  why  may  I  not  say  '  dear '  to  you  ?  "  he 
asked.  "  For  the  last  year  I  have  been  courting  you, 
I  have  been  trying  by  every  means  in  my  power  to 
show  you  that  I  love  you,  and  to  win  your  love,  but 
you  obstinately  hold  yourself  apart,  and  will  none  of 
my  advances.  Dear,  dearest,  you  must  listen  to  me 
now,  if  it  is  in  the  street  and  with  crowds  around. 


190  JANET  WARD 

What  have  I  done  to  make  you  hate  me?  Why 
won't  you  at  least  be  fair  and  give  me  a  chance  ?  You 
know  Janet  Ward,  that  I  love  you." 

All  this  went  on,  low-toned,  rapid,  vehement.  A 
sudden  smile  crossed  Janet's  face;  she  had  never 
thought  her  lover  at  all  like  her  father,  but  this  im 
petuous  onset  was  quite  in  Dave  Ward's  manner. 
It  won  upon  David  Ward's  daughter.  She  decided 
to  be  frank  in  her  turn.  They  were  now  walking- 
together  up  Broadway. 

"Mr.  Fuller,"  she  said,  "have  you  the  right  to 
address  me,  as  you  are  doing  ?  " 

"Heavens  and  earth,  Janet,  what  do  you  mean? 
Why  should  I  not  have  the  right?  Please  ex 
plain." 

"I  heard  accidentally  some  time  ago,  that  you 
were  engaged  to  a  girl  in  Virginia." 

"And  you  believed  it?  I  am  ashamed  of  you.  I 
am  almost  angry  with  you.  I  did  not  deserve  this, 
Janet,  that  you  should  suppose  me  capable  of  infidel 
ity  and  of  lack  of  honor.  I  repeat  it,  Janet,  I  am  not 
almost  but  in  very  truth  vexed." 

Indeed  he  looked  so.  His  mouth  was  firmly  set 
and  a  shadow  had  fallen  on  his  face.  For  an  instant 
Janet  felt  a  tremor  pass  through  her.  A  woman  loves 
a  man  none  the  less  for  feeling  a  little  in  awe  of  him. 
In  the  instant  that  Janet  lifted  her  eyes  and  beheld 
sternness  where  hitherto  she  had  seen  only  admiration, 
she  was  attracted;  in  the  low  reproachful  tone  that 
had  till  now  been  all  softness  and  pleading,  there 
was  something  that  caught  at  her  heart  strings. 
Suddenly  she  was  vanquished.  Most  true  women  are 
captivated  by  masterfulness  in  men.  Few  brides 


DISAPPOINrMENr         191 

wish  the  word  obey  omitted  from  the  marriage 
ceremony. 

She  put  her  hand  lightly  and  for  a  fleeting  instant 
on  his  arm. 

"Don't  be  angry,  please,"  she  said,  and  his  coun 
tenance  lightened  at  once. 

"  It  wounds  me  that  you  could  have  entertained  an 
unworthy  thought  of  me,"  he  said.  "I  at  least 
supposed  that  I  had  won  your  respect." 

Janet  was  silent.  They  walked  on  several  blocks 
without  further  conversation.  Then  he  spoke  again. 

"It  occurs  to  me,  Janet,  that  I  have  not  denied  this 
absurd,  this  most  preposterous  charge.  I  have  never 
cared  for  any  girl  in  the  world  but  yourself.  There 
are  a  good  many  Fullers,  for  we  are  a  clan,  and  several 
of  us  are  engaged.  I  am  not  the  only  clergyman  in 
the  family,  as  I  think  you  know,  and  Theodore  with 
us  is  a  favorite  name.  My  cousin  Theodore  Harris 
Fuller,  who  lives  in  the  southwest,  is  engaged  to  a 
young  lady  in  Charlotte,  Virginia,  and  rumor  has 
confused  me  with  him." 

"Don't  be  so  annoyed,  Theodore,"  Janet  said 
again,  and  this  time  he  smiled  outright. 

"I'll  try  not  to  be,  if  you  will  say  as  you  ought, 
'  please  forgive  me.'  " 

"  Please  forgive  me,  dear,"  she  said. 

"And  you  will  return  my  love  ?  Will  you  one  of 
these  days  be  my  wife?" 

They  were  still  walking  on  Broadway.  People 
passing  observed  only  a  handsome  pair  of  young 
people,  both  in  the  heyday  of  their  years.  Nobody 
caught  a  word  of  their  talk,  but  when  Janet  shyly 
said  yes,  the  street  corner  grew  luminous  to  Theo- 


192          JANET:  WARD 

dore  and  that  part  of  Broadway  looked  to  him  like 
heaven  itself. 

"My  darling,"  he  murmured,  and  they  boarded  a 
car,  and  went  home  to  Nancy,  to  whom  Theodore 
said,  "  Congratulate  me;  Janet  has  surrendered." 

But  Nancy  had  no  returning  smile  at  the  moment. 
A  telegram  had  arrived,  and  in  Janet's  absence  she 
had  opened  it,  this  being  their  rule.  And  this  was 
what  it  had  said:  "Mother  ill.  Janet  must  come 
home  at  once." 

Janet  was  filled  with  dismay  and  self-reproach. 
She  felt  that  Belle  had  warned  her,  and  that  she  had 
not  heeded  the  warning.  Belle  herself  was  the  first 
to  reassure  her.  "Remember,  dear,"  she  said,  "that 
your  father  is  not  one  to  put  off  decision,  or  to  delib 
erate,  and  if  Mrs.  Ward  wants  you,  the  telegraph 
is  quicker  than  the  mail.  I  think  you  will  find  that 
she  does  want  you  very  much,  but  that  there  is  no 
pressing  danger."  Belle  was  so  convincing  in  her 
tender  insistance  that  Janet  accepted  her  view. 
Meanwhile  she  was  by  the  way  of  realizing  the  sup 
port  there  is  in  having  a  man  devoted  to  one's 
personal  comfort,  and  ready  to  take  care  of  one  in 
an  emergency.  Mr.  Fuller  took  the  responsibility  of 
getting  her  tickets,  attending  to  her  luggage,  and  re 
lieving  her  from  every  anxiety  that  he  could  lift. 
She  decided  to  go  by  the  midnight  train  and  he 
accompanied  her  to  the  station.  Belle  who  was  to 
sail  for  Liverpool  the  next  day,  said  good-night  early 
in  the  evening  and  Nancy  thought  that  the  lovers 
should  have  some  final  words  to  themselves,  so  she 
kissed  her  friend  and  whispered  her  last  loving 
wishes  in  Janet's  own  room  before  she  left. 


DISAPPOINTMENT          193 

In  the  carriage,  Janet  turned  to  Mr.  Fuller  with  eyes 
that  were  tragic  in  their  look  of  sorrowful  regret. 

"  You  know,  dear,  if  anything  happens  to  mother, 
it  will  be  my  fault." 

"  I  am  sure  you  are  entirely  blameless  about  her  ill 
ness,  Janet.  You  have  not  been  there." 

"  That  is  exactly  it.  I  have  been  selfish  and  heart 
less,  thinking  of  my  own  career,  and  leaving  her 
alone  without  her  daughter.  If  mother  is  taken 
away,  I  shall  never  forgive  myself." 

Theodore  recognized  the  futility  of  argument  with 
one  nervous  and  overstrained,  and  did  not  oppose 
her;  instead  he  took  her  hand,  and  held  it  in  a  firm, 
cool  pressure  that  carried  tranquillity  better  than 
speech  at  that  moment. 

"And  Theodore,"  she  went  on,  "if  dear  mother 
does  not  get  well,  everything  between  us  must  end. 
I  am  sure  of  that." 

"  I  am  not  sure  of  that,  Janet." 

"  We  must  just  let  everything  be  as  it  was  before 
this  afternoon,  Theodore.  We  must  forget  it. 
Think  of  the  heartlessness  of  a  daughter  who  became 
engaged  when  her  mother  was  in  such  danger  as 
mine  is.  It  is  shocking.  I  could  not  endure  my  own 
cruelty,  if  I  suffered  such  a  thing  to  go  on." 

Theodore  bowed.  She  was  unreasonable  and  con 
tradictory  and  altogether  trying,  but  she  was  his,  and 
most  womanly  though  provoking.  "A  little  willful 
rose  set  round  with  thorns." 

"  Suppose  we  leave  it  now,  dearie,  you  are  too  tired 
to  think,  and  anyhow,  things  look  far  worse  at 
night  than  they  ever  do  in  the  morning.  Wait  a 
little." 


I94  JANE?  WARD 

"  I  shall  never  see  it  differently,  Theodore,  unless, 
dear,  mother  gets  well."  Janet  spoke  with  great 
firmness. 

"  We  will  pray  that  she  may  soon  recover.  I  am 
not  so  discouraged  as  you  are.  Why  not  look  on 
the  bright  side  ?  Try,  Janet." 

They  separated,  and  Theodore  on  the  platform 
watched  the  train  speed  away.  Janet  flying  south 
ward  was  in  a  state  of  mingled  grief  and  hope. 
With  many  young  women  she  experienced  a  certain 
reluctance  against  the  bond  of  betrothal,  and  though 
taken  by  surprise  she  had  conceded  her  lover's  claim, 
yet  she  was  not  quite  prepared  to  give  up  her  freedom. 
We  are  not  betrothed  was  her  last  thought  before  the 
motion  of  the  train  lulled  her  to  rest;  somehow  she 
clutched  at  a  respite,  a  reprieve,  and  her  lover, 
sitting  in  his  den  at  home,  vaguely  comprehended 
her  feeling.  He  wrote  a  line  in  his  diary  before  he 
slept.  "  A  great  joy  and  a  partial  disappointment 
have  signalized  this  day." 

He  held  himself  bound  in  any  event,  though  he 
mentally  left  Janet  free  until  she  was  ready  to  be 
bound. 

In  marriage,  for  both  parties,  there  must  be  a  com 
mon  service  that  is  perfect  freedom. 


XV 

THE  COURSE  OF  TRUE  LOVE 

IN  the  tranquil  years  that  eventually  came  to  Janet 
and  Theodore,  they  always  looked  back  on  this 
year  of  interrupted  peace,  as  their  period  of 
storm  and  stress.  Fortunately,  at  the  time,  both 
were  too  intensely  busy  to  spend  much  thought  in 
self-pity.  Theodore  had  the  absorbing  occupations 
of  a  minister  in  a  city  parish  with  a  rapidly  increas 
ing  congregation,  and  Janet,  once  at  home,  found 
both  hands  full. 

Mrs.  Ward's  fatal  tendency  to  melancholy,  held  in 
abeyance  so  long  by  the  resolution  to  combat  its 
tyranny,  and  staved  away,  on  a  former  occasion,  by 
a  timely  change  of  scene,  had  returned  like  a  giant 
armed.  The  delicacy,  which  Belle  Nelson  had  no 
ticed  and  feared,  was  the  precursor  of  an  attack  less 
perilous  to  body  than  mind,  and  when  Dr.  Hun- 
toon  could  not  dissipate  her  moodiness  nor  lighten 
the  cloud  that  her  low  spirits  caused  in  the  manse, 
nor  build  up  the  fragile,  physical  life,  he  took  the  step 
that  common  sense  indicated,  and  bade  Mr.  Ward 
send  for  Janet.  It  was  by  his  suggestion  that  the  tele 
gram  had  summoned  her  instead  of  the  more  delib 
erate  mail. 

"Is  my  wife  in  danger,  Ralph  ?"  asked  Mr.  Ward, 
whose  strained  countenance  and  hollow  eyes  showed 


196          JANET:  WARD 

what  anguish  of  watching  and  suspense  he  had  been 
through. 

"Not  in  immediate  danger,  David,  but  one  can 
take  no  chances  in  a  peril  like  hers.  The  border  line 
between  obstinate  melancholia  and  insanity  is  very 
slight.  I  must  have  Janet  here  to  rouse  her  mother, 
cheer  you  up,  and  introduce  a  new  element.  Janet  is 
the  only  prescription  I  can  administer  with  any  hope 
in  its  efficacy.  And  I'm  not  meaning  to  trust  alone 
to  Janet.  When  your  wife  is  able  to  be  moved,  I 
want  you  to  send  her  away,  either  to  some  place 
where  she  has  been  very  happy,  in  the  past,  or  to  an 
entirely  new  place.  We'll  try  the  remedial  power  of 
an  entire  change,  after  a  while.  Please  God,  we'll 
have  the  dear  lady  well  again,  by  and  by." 

Janet  received  the  warmest  of  welcomes  from  a 
group  of  the  neighbors,  who  had  stood,  with 
sisterly  devotion,  around  her  mother,  before  this 
breakdown.  One  of  them,  in  an  hour's  talk,  one 
evening  when  Mrs.  Ward  had  been  coaxed  to  go  for 
a  drive  with  her  husband,  revealed  something  of  the 
causes  which  had  been  too  much  for  Mrs.  Ward's 
slender  strength. 

"You  see,  Miss  Janet,  that  your  maw  was 
too  much  by  herself.  Your  paw  was  writing  and 
reading  and  going  off  to  preach,  and  your  maw  had 
lots  of  lonesome  hours.  Your  big  brothers  and  you 
away,  and  your  little  brother  off  in  the  woods  with 
his  gun,  or  fishing  down  by  the  brook,  and  not  a 
soul  to  speak  to  her.  She  said  to  me  one  day, 
'After  a  woman's  fifty  years  old,  there's  nobody  in 
the  wide  world  needs  her,  and  she  ought  to  go  away 
and  hide  herself.'  That's  what  she  was  thinkin'  of, 


COURSE  OF  TRUE  LOVE    197 

I  reckon,  when  she  did  go  away  and  hide  her 
self?" 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  gasped  Janet. 

"  Why,  didn't  your  paw  ever  tell  you  ?  It  was  in 
the  spring,  when  the  robins  came  back,  and  the 
woods  were  green,  and  the  garden  was  perking  up 
again,  and  your  paw  went  off  to  a  big  ministers' 
meeting  somewhere,  and  Mrs.  Ward  was  more  lone 
some  than  ever.  Mr.  Ward  begged  her  to  go  with 
him,  but  she  wouldn't.  She  reckoned  she  didn't 
want  to  see  so  many  strangers.  So,  he  went,  and 
she  stood  by  the  door  and  waved  her  hand  after 
him,  that  pretty  way  she  always  had.  And  the  days 
passed,  four  of  them,  and  little  Alec  went  off  for  a 
picnic,  that  last  day,  and  when  your  paw  came 
home,  the  door  was  open,  and  the  fire  was  out,  and 
there  was  nobody  in  the  manse." 

"Did  not  mother  have  any  maid,  Chloe,  Lucy, 
Rosa,  anybody?  I  remember  those  names,  surely." 

"Oh,  sometimes  she  had  a  somebody  and  often  a 
nobody.  Just  then,  there  was  a  Lucy,  but  your  maw 
let  her  go  for  a  holiday,  soon  as  your  paw's  back  was 
turned.  Then,  she  slipped  off  with  a  book,  to  gather 
flowers  and  press  them,  and  she  didn't  come  back." 

"Where  was  she?"  Janet  was  horrified,  it  was 
all  so  out  of  character  with  her  view  of  her  mother. 

"  She  was  up  in  Tim  Nelson's  old  cabin,  fast  asleep, 
when  your  father  found  her.  He  didn't  startle  her 
or  express  any  surprise;  he  just  said,  '  Here  you  are, 
pet.  Let's  go  home.'  And  she  came  home.  The 
way  I  know  is  that  my  old  man  was  one  of  them 
that  helped  Mr.  Ward  look  for  her,  and  he  told  me. 
He  said  he  never  saw  anybody  so  patient  as  Mr. 


198          JANET: 

Ward;  he  didn't  believe  there  was  anybody  else  like 
him,  except  the  Lord." 

Janet  reflected.  And  as  she  thought  it  over,  she 
became  more  and  more  indignant  at  her  own  strange 
blindness,  at  the  absorption  that  had  prevented  her 
from  observing  the  infrequency  of  her  mother's 
letters,  and  from  reading  between  the  lines  of  her 
father's.  Most  of  all,  she  was  vexed  that  when  Mrs. 
Nelson  had  tried  to  alarm  her,  she  had  been  deaf  to 
the  intimation.  She  thanked  her  visitor,  and  gov 
erned  face  and  voice,  so  that  the  good  woman  sup 
posed  her  much  less  impressed  with  the  recital  than 
was  the  case.  When  she  was  alone,  she  went 
to  her  room,  and  wrote  three  letters. 

The  first  was  to  Theodore,  and  was  in  the  nature 
of  a  bomb  shell. 

"  My  dear  friend,"  she  began  formally,  "  if  you  did 
not  receive  from  me  the  thanks  I  ought  to  have  spoken 
for  your  kindness  in  escorting  me  to  the  station,  on 
the  night  I  left  New  York,  please  accept  my  grateful 
acknowledgments,  now.  You  were,  as  is  your  cus 
tom,  most  courteous,  and  1  fear  I  was  rude,  beyond 
belief." 

When  Theodore  received  this,  and  had  read  thus 
far,  he  was  very  much  mystified. 

"What  ails  Janet,  that  she  is  so  deadly,  so  crush- 
ingly  polite,"  he  mentally  exclaimed. 

Reading  on,  he  soon  reached  the  puzzle's  solution. 

"I  have  found  my  dear  mother  much  stronger, 
physically,  than  the  message  allowed  me  to  hope. 
But  it  would  be  better,  if  she  were  less  strong  in 
body  and  quieter  in  mind.  She  is  suffering  from  a 
dreadful  infliction  of  the  depression  which  has  dogged 


COURSE  OF  TRUE  LOVE    199 

her  from  her  youth;  she  is  not  mentally  unbalanced, 
yet,  but  is  very,  very  near  it.  That  she  often  sits 
silent  for  hours,  with  the  tears  dropping  slowly 
down,  that  she  refuses  to  talk  to  my  father,  who 
adores  her  and  is  broken-hearted,  that  she  sometimes 
wanders  away  and  hides  herself,  are  all  developments 
of  the  disease.  She  was,  at  first,  pleased  when  she 
saw  me,  but  not  for  long;  on  the  second  day,  she 
coldly  advised  me  not  to  waste  any  time  on  her,  but 
to  go  back  to  my  friends  in  the  North. 

"  'You  have  a  brilliant  destiny  before  you,  Janet,' 
she  murmured.  'Why  did  you  come  home?  Did 
anybody  send  for  you  ? '  I  tried  not  to  answer  that 
question  but  she  refused  to  let  me  evade  it,  and  when 
she  discovered  that  I  had  been  sent  for,  she  was  very 
much  displeased.  Mother,  whose  amiability  never 
used  to  be  ruffled,  was  so  vexed  at  my  father  at 
sending  for  me,  that  she  refused  to  be  appeased. 
'  You  may  as  well  go  back,  Janet,'  she  said.  '  I  don't 
want  you.  Go  back  and  write  your  stories,  and  live 
your  gay  life.  It  is  too  doleful  for  you  here.' 

"I  can't  begin  to  tell  you,  Theodore,  how  her 
gloom  fills  the  manse.  The  cold,  gray,  creeping, 
folding  fog  that  comes  up  from  the  sea  and  hides 
the  land,  is  like  it.  Somehow,  it  is  like  a  seizure 
from  outside;  it  appalls  one.  Father  is  nearly  beside 
himself  when  she  is  at  the  worst,  and  I  am  simply 
wild.  I  want  to  fly,  to  escape  from  it,  but  there  is 
no  escape. 

"Once  in  a  while,  the  darkness  is  lifted,  and  for 
a  day  or  two,  mother  is  her  own  sweet  self.  Dr. 
Huntoon  declares  it  is  all  due  to  her  bodily  state,  and 
says  we  needn't  mind,  though  she  refuses  to  stay  in 


200  JANEr  WARD 

the  room  at  family  worship,  or  to  go  to  communion 
because  she  insists  that  she  is  not  a  Christian,  and 
has  never  been  saved.  But  I  don't  believe  bim.  I 
am  afraid  it  is  worse  than  he  will  tell  us,  and  that 
worse  is  coming,  and  oh,  Theodore!  1  am  the  one 
to  blame.  I  have  done  it.  I,  with  my  going  off,  and 
leaving  home,  and  trying  to  have  a  career.  I  should 
have  stayed  with  father  and  mother.  1  am  bitterly 
sorry  and  ashamed,  and  I  shall  never,  never  leave 
them  again.  The  thing  that  hurts  me  most,  is  that  I 
was  so  selfish,  forgetting  them,  and  letting  you  love 
me,  and  listening  to  you  when  father  was  nearly  dis 
tracted  with  anxiety.  Now,  Theodore,  forgive  me, 
but  consider  that  nothing  has  taken  place  between 
us.  I  set  you  free  for  two  reasons,  one,  that  I  am 
not  worthy  any  good  man's  love,  being  a  heartless, 
selfish  girl,  who  has  not  done  her  duty,  and  must 
therefore  do  penance,  forevermore,  and  the  other, 
because  if  there  is  even  the  faintest  danger  that  my 
precious  mother  is  becoming  insane,  I  can,  of  course, 
never  marry.  So  good-bye,  Theodore.  Take  this  as 
my  last  word.  Good-bye,  and  forget  me  as  soon  as 
you  possibly  can.  Please  do." 

Theodore  read  and  reread  the  letter,  folded  it  up 
and  put  it  carefully  away. 

"  My  poor  little  love,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  you've 
come  to  a  very  hard  place  in  the  road,  but  I'll  cer 
tainly  not  accept  a  dismissal." 

His  answer  to  the  letter  was  as  resolute  in  its  stead 
fastness,  as  Janet's,  in  its  renunciation,  and  it  did 
carry  balm  to  her  wounded  spirit,  though  she  was 
reluctant  to  admit  its  healing  touch. 

Nancy,  who  had  courage  enough  for  two  women, 


COURSE  OF  TRUE  LOVE   201 

made  up  her  mind  to  shut  up  her  studio  for  a  month, 
and  go  to  Janet's  aid,  a  decision  which  was  easier  for 
her  to  make  than  it  could  have  been  earlier.  For  she 
was  at  a  parting  of  the  ways,  where  she  was  leaving 
her  former  work,  and  taking  orders  for  some  of 
greater  importance,  and  she  needed  a  breathing-spell. 

In  her  letter  to  Nancy,  Janet  told  of  her  mother's 
unremitting  endeavors  to  promote  the  social  life  of 
the  people  around  her,  until  she  had  given  out  in 
strength.  It  seemed,  that  she  had  been  exhausting 
herself  in  trying  to  bring  together,  in  friendly  asso 
ciation,  women  who  were  quite  contented  to  jog  on 
as  their  mothers  and  grandmothers  had.  Through  it 
all,  Nancy  saw,  as  Janet  had  seen,  that  Mrs.  Ward 
had  been  lonely.  She  too,  felt  that  the  too  muchness 
of  life  had  wrought  ill  for  the  fragile  woman,  who 
had  needed  her  daughter,  yet  had  not  asked  her  to 
return.  But  Nancy  had  no  blame  for  Janet. 

Elizabeth's  answer  to  Janet's  letter,  was  in  the 
shape  of  a  great  box,  packed  with  everything  that  an 
invalid  could  enjoy,  and  by  express,  a  few  days 
later,  she  sent  dainty  packets  of  perfumery,  a  white 
dressing  sacque,  profusely  trimmed  with  lace,  and  a 
pretty  bonnet  and  wrap,  all  for  Mrs.  Ward,  and  all 
so  bewitchingly  feminine  that  to  the  immense  as 
tonishment  of  husband  and  doctor,  they  did  what 
neither  love  nor  science  had  done,  they  created  a 
diversion.  To  Janet,  she  wrote  crisply,  "Tom  and  I 
are  of  the  same  opinion.  Your  mother  must  come 
to  Dene's  Mills  as  soon  as  ever  she  is  able  to  bear  the 
journey.  For  pity's  sake,  Janet  Ward,  pull  yourself 
together,  and  don't  you  give  up  to  the  dominion  of 
the  blues.  And  now  let  me  tell  you.  Tom  and  I 


202          JANET:  WARD 

have  been  to  hear  Theodore  preach.  There  was  a 
crowd  that  would  have  delighted  your  eyes.  Every 
pew  in  his  church  is  taken.  You  have  to  go  early 
to  get  a  seat.  And,  for  the  life  of  me,  Janet,  I  don't 
see  why  they  go,  for  Theodore  is  not  at  all 
pyrotechnic.  He  preaches  the  plainest,  simplest 
gospel,  and  without  any  frills  or  eloquence.  But 
he's  a  man,  and  Tom  says  he's  Christ's  man.  Did 
you  ever  dream  that  Tom  Evans  once  longed  to  be  a 
minister,  but  had  to  give  it  up,  and  be  a  business 
man  instead  ?  Well,  1  would  have  made  a  fearful 
failure  as  a  minister's  wife,  but,  I  fancy,  I'll  get  on 
pretty  well  as  Tom's,  for  the  fact  is  old  Tom  suits  me 
precisely.  Father,  by  the  way,  sends  his  love  to  your 
father,  and  wonders  if  it  isn't  time  for  Mr.  Ward  to 
take  a  furlough.  Then,  if  he  would  consent,  you 
could  all  come  up  to  Dene's  Mills  for  a  good  long 
visit.  Mother  joins  in  the  hope  that  this  may  be  the 
way  out  of  your  present  distresses." 

Nancy  Wiburn  had  met  a  wonderfully  good  friend, 
who  did  more  than  materially  assist  her.  This  she 
did  without  stint,  giving  her  large  orders,  and  rec 
ommending  her  to  friends,  but  not  resting  here. 
Back  to  the  hill  country  of  Pennsylvania,  this  friend 
went  on  a  quest  that  at  first  appeared  utterly  hope 
less,  for  what  faint  glimmer  of  reason  was  there  to 
anticipate  the  finding,  kith  and  kin,  for  Nancy,  after 
all  these  years.  On  what  Mrs.  Archer,  this  patron  of 
Nancy's,  based  her  prediction  that  the  mystery  of 
Nancy's  parentage  should  be  made  clear,  it  would 
have  been  difficult  for  anybody  to  discover.  Once 
in  awhile,  intangibilities  are  firmer  than  the  rock  strata 
of  the  real.  Visiting  a  summer  resort,  in  the  neigh- 


COURSE  OF  TRUE  LOVE   203 

borhood  where  Nancy's  childhood  had  been  spent, 
the  lady  had  seen,  beside  a  cottage  door,  a  woman 
sewing.  The  woman  had  lifted  her  eyes,  and  their 
dark  depths,  the  straight  brows,  the  square  chin,  had 
reminded  Mrs.  Archer  of  Nancy,  "trusty,  dusky, 
vivid,  true."  They  had  talked  together.  Mrs.  Archer 
had  found  that  this  woman,  older  by  ten  years  than 
Nancy,  was  an  orphan  of  that  long  ago  flood,  when 
her  father,  mother,  brother,  and  little  sister,  had 
perished. 

"  You  remember  your  father  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  the  woman. 

"What  was  he?    Who  was  he?" 

The  woman  looked  surprised  at  the  direct  ques 
tioning. 

"I  beg  pardon,  but  I  have  a  reason  for  asking. 
Please  tell  me  all  you  can." 

"I  was  only  eleven.  The  flood  came  while  we 
were  at  supper.  Baby  and  cradle,  little  Neil,  papa 
and  mamma,  were  engulfed  and  swept  away.  I 
was  caught  in  the  crotch  of  a  tree,  and  rescued. 
Who  was  my  father  ?  He  was  a  poet  and  a  painter, 
Andrew  Hayes.  I  am  Marjory  Hayes." 

Mrs.  Archer  was  as  sure  as  if  she  had  had  an  an 
cestral  record  to  read  that  Nancy  Wiburn  was  really 
Nancy  Hayes,  that  this  was  Nancy's  sister,  but  she 
bided  her  time.  While  still  further  pursuing  her  in 
quiries,  she  sent  Nancy  away  to  help  Janet,  for  Nancy 
was  a  born  nurse  though  not  a  trained  one. 

In  the  manse,  things  began  to  brighten.  Mr. 
Ward,  as  mercurial  as  ever,  and  as  light  of  heart 
under  white  hair  as  he  had  been  years  and  years  ago, 
began  to  sing  about  the  house,  and  to  see  visions 


204  JANET  WARD 

and  dream  dreams.  All  his  boys  came  home,  for 
longer  or  shorter  visits,  and  their  presence  cheered 
up  their  mother.  Dr.  Huntoon,  persistently  look 
ing  on  the  bright  side,  asserted  that  a  few  months 
would  restore  Mrs.  Ward  to  more  than  her  usual 
health,  in  fact,  make  her  young  again.  A  great 
change  was  visible  in  the  whole  locality.  The  rail 
way  was  cut  through.  Trains  invaded  the  old-time 
quiet.  A  bank  was  built,  a  public  school  shot  up  by 
magic,  a  hotel  opened  its  doors  to  strangers,  and 
David  Ward  found  himself  the  pastor  of  a  church  in 
the  midst  of  a  community.  His  wife's  old  prayer 
was  by  way  of  being  answered.  One  of  her  sons, 
Hugh,  was  studying  that  he  might  take  upon  him 
the  solemn  vows  of  his  father's  calling.  Jack  was  a 
young  doctor.  Stuart  was  a  tutor  in  the  university 
where,  as  a  brilliant  student,  he  had  carried  off  so 
many  honors  that  envious  people  were  sure  he  would 
never  amount  to  anything,  in  the  world  of  men  be 
yond  academic  doors. 

In  New  York,  Theodore  kept1  up  his  courage,  not 
through  Janet's  letters,  which  were  provokingly  im 
personal  and  consistently  disheartening,  but  because 
of  his  invincible  determination  never  to  give  up  hope 
till  Janet  was  his  own.  Nancy  who  corresponded 
with  him  almost  as  if  he  had  been  a  brother,  encour 
aged  him  in  this,  and,  from  the  hour  of  her  arrival 
in  the  mountain  land,  Mrs.  Ward's  possession  of  the 
devil,  if  such  it  was,  grew  lighter,  and  she  improved 
in  strength.  Nancy  had  an  almost  mesmeric  touch. 
Her  fingers  could  charm  away  an  ache.  Her  very 
tones  were  potent  to  calm  a  perturbed  mind.  So  it 
came  to  pass,  very  naturally,  that  when  the  migra- 


COURSE  OF  TRUE  LOVE   205 

tion  to  Dene's  Mills  took  place,  Nancy  piloted  the 
family  there. 

Seven  years  had  elapsed  since  Mr.  Ward's  mis 
sionary  work  among  his  Tennessee  people  had 
begun.  In  that  time  he  had  taken  no  vacation;  not 
for  a  single  week,  had  he  been  away.  That  his 
place  should  be  supplied  at  no  cost  to  the  parish, 
Horace  Evans  wrote  to  Dr.  Huntoon,  to  draw  on 
him  for  the  salary  of  the  substituting  pastor,  during 
Mr.  Ward's  absence.  The  doctor  replied  with  thanks 
and  a  courteous  dismissal  of  the  offer. 

"  We  are  not  so  poor  as  we  were,  down  here;  we 
are  indeed  growing  rich;  we  can  pay  for  one  pastor's 
supply,  and  give  him  a  holiday." 

Dene's  Mills  was  in  its  midsummer  beauty  and 
glory,  when  the  party  of  travellers,  who  had  taken 
their  journey  by  very  leisurely  stages,  reached  the  up- 
country  station.  Mr.  Evans  was  there  with  carriages. 
The  two  old  classmates  clasped  hands,  and  under  the 
masks  of  wrinkles  and  gray  hair,  caught  a  glimpse 
of  their  boyish  selves.  Mrs.  Ward  was  as  cheerful 
as  if  she  had  known  no  cloud.  When  her  dark 
spells  were  over,  their  very  memory  passed  away  for 
the  time.  Elizabeth  and  Tom  were  waiting  to  re 
ceive  Nancy  and  Janet,  and  the  latter  was  hardly 
amazed  when  somebody,  whom  she  had  not  looked 
for,  stepped  up  with  a  world  of  gladness  in  his 
eyes.  His  smile  was  a  sunbeam. 

"You  cannot  escape  me,  after  all,"  said  Theodore. 


XV! 
SETTLEMENT  WORK 

"  TANET,  there  is  a  gentleman  in  the  library  ask- 

I  ing  for  your  father.      He  refuses  to  send  up 

cJ  his  card,  saying  that  he  is  an  old  friend.      1 

happened  to  be  sitting  on  the  veranda  when  he  drove 

up,  so  I  received  him." 

"Where  is  father?"  asked  Janet.  "I  have  not 
seen  him  the  last  hour." 

"No,  he  went  to  the  mill  with  papa  and  they  are 
to  make  a  morning  of  it  somewhere.  The  two  dear 
things  are  simply  renewing  their  youth.  It  is  fun  to 
watch  them.  I  said  that  Mr.  Ward  was  out,  but  the 
gentleman  was  inclined  to  wait,  so  perhaps  you 
would  better  see  him."  Elizabeth  withdrew  and 
Janet  went  to  the  library,  and  there,  rising  and  ad 
vancing  with  hand  outstretched,  behold,  was  her 
ancient  enemy,  Mr.  Leland  of  Springdale.  "Uncle 
Pumblechook"  flitted  whimsically  across  her  mind, 
and  she  smiled  as  she  responded  to  his  most  ex 
pansive  and  fatherly  greeting. 

"Well,  well,  well,  Janet,  you've  grown,  and 
you've  filled  out.  You  are  a  woman.  I  hadn't 
realized  it.  I  was  expecting  to  find  the  same  little 
Janet  I  used  to  know.  Now,  my  dear,"  and  the  gray 
old  deacon  beamed  benevolently  upon  her  through 
his  spectacles,  "  I  saw  it  in  the  Religious  Criterion, 
about  your  father  being  here,  and  I've  come  from 

206 


WORK     207 

Springdale  on  purpose  to  get  him  to  pay  us  a  visit, 
and  preach  once  more  in  his  old  pulpit.  The  young 
lady  says  he's  not  in,  but  I'll  sit  still  until  he  comes, 
all  day  if  necessary.  How's  your  mother  ?" 

"Mother  is  better,  I  thank  you  ;  but,  Mr.  Leland, 
I  don't  know  when  father  will  return,  and  I  don't 
think  he  ought  to  preach,  for  he's  very  tired.  That's 
why  he's  here,  that  he  may  rest." 

"Tired  or  not,  he'll  want  to  preach.  I  know  him, 
and  he  won't  say  no  to  us.  Why,  he  belongs  to  us 
yet,  Janet,  and  I'm  not  going  away  till  I  see  him  and 
shake  him  by  the  hand.  God  bless  him,  I've  come  all 
the  way  on  purpose,"  he  repeated,  and  looked  im 
movable  as  a  rock. 

Just  then,  Mrs.  Evans  entered,  and  Mr.  Leland  was 
introduced  to  her,  and  his  errand  explained. 

"I  wouldn't  have  you  miss  meeting  your  old 
pastor  for  the  world,"  said  the  lady  of  the  manor, 
"and  he  would  feel  disappointed,  indeed,  if  he 
failed  to  see  you.  Here  is  Mrs.  Ward,  who  will  con 
firm  what  I  say." 

Janet,  with  the  severity  of  youth,  which  often  ap 
proaches  a  cynical  intolerance,  was  confounded  at 
the  warmth  of  Mrs.  Ward's  manner  to  Mr.  Leland; 
she  did  not  realize  that  when  her  mother  looked  into 
the  old  man's  eyes,  she  saw  again  the  glamour  of  her 
morning  hour,  the  happy  times  when  her  babies 
were  about  her,  and  all  the  brightness  of  her  early 
days.  Springdale,  to  Mrs.  Ward,  had  in  its  very 
name  a  sound  of  melody  and  a  waft  of  fragance. 
At  once,  she  had  a  strong  desire  to  go  back  again 
and  meet  again  the  old  friends,  and  sit  down  for  an 
hour  or  two  in  the  home.  Although  incomprehen- 


208  JANET  WARD 

sible  to  Janet  the  feeling  was  by  some  swift  intuition 
understood  by  Mrs.  Evans,  and  she  touched  a  bell. 

The  old  butler  appeared. 

"Send  some  one  on  horseback  to  the  mills,  and 
ask  Mr.  Ward  to  stop  here,  before  he  and  Mr.  Evans 
go  anywhere  else.  Make  haste,"  she  said.  "The 
matter  is  important." 

Turning  to  Mr.  Leland,  Mrs.  Evans  insisted  that  he 
must  have  some  refreshment,  and  presently  a  tempt 
ing  luncheon  was  brought  in,  which  he  ate  with  ap 
petite  while  Mrs.  Ward  chatted  with  him,  her  color 
coming  and  going  like  a  girl's.  She  had  never  lost 
touch  with  Springdale,  having  maintained  a  corre 
spondence  with  some  of  her  old  friends,  and  in  the 
years  of  absence,  the  disagreeable  things  had  faded 
from  recollection,  and  the  delightful  things  had  been 
idealized,  so  that  the  little  hamlet  seemed  to  her 
now,  as  if  it  had  been  a  veritable  Arcady.  The 
others  melted  out  of  the  room  and  left  the  two  to 
their  pleasant  old-time  gossip,  and  Mrs.  Ward  never 
noticed  their  departure.  Janet  went  back  to  Eliza 
beth,  and  directly,  Mrs.  Evans  found  them  to 
gether,  the  two  bright  heads  bent  over  their 
sewing. 

"  That's  what  the  little  mother  needs  to  finish  her 
cure;  a  visit  to  Springdale,"  declared  Mrs.  Evans 
with  emphasis.  "  Your  father  must  take  her.  There 
he  comes  now.  We'll  let  him  go  into  the  library 
without  telling  him  who's  waiting  for  him." 

Janet  looked  a  little  scornful. 

"If  you  knew,  dear  Mrs.  Evans,  if  you  could 
faintly  conceive,  the  trial  that  old  man  always  was, 
the  most  rasping,  irritating,  grumbling  old  creature, 


SETTLEMENT  WORK       209 

you  wouldn't  expect  father  to  feel  any  satisfaction  in 
meeting  him  again." 

But  Janet  was  mistaken.  Up  the  stair,  floated  a 
hearty  voice,  and  the  house  rang  with  the  cheery 
greeting  David  Ward  gave  his  former  parishioner. 
Undoubtedly,  he  was  unaffectedly  and  sincerely 
pleased  to  see  Mr.  Leland,  and  Janet,  amazed  and  in 
credulous,  heard  him  say,  loudly  enough  to  be 
audible  to  all  listeners, 

"Why,  of  course,  I  couldn't  go  back  to  my  work 
without  seeing  all  the  old  friends.  Yes,  you  may 
count  on  me,  for  a  week  from  to-day,  and  we'll  stay 
as  long  as  Mrs.  Ward  wishes,  and  you  have  room 
for  us." 

"I  hope  I  needn't  go  too."  Janet's  expression  was 
so  eloquent  that  her  companions  laughed,  and 
Nancy,  who  had  just  returned  from  a  long  tramp 
over  the  hills,  declared,  positively,  that  she  would 
veto  her  going  if  it  were  proposed.  Janet  was  so 
vehement  that  Nancy  was  much  impressed. 

"Let  your  father  and  mother  spend  the  anniver 
sary  of  their  wedding  in  Springdale;  nothing  would 
do  Mrs.  Ward  so  much  good.  I  am  so  thankful  that 
the  dear  old  deacon  came,  instead  of  writing  a  letter. 
People  often  say  no  to  a  letter  when  they  say  yes  to 
a  person  who  comes  himself.  I  tell  you,  Janet,  your 
mother  is  in  great  need  of  Springdale  air.  They  will 
both  be  independent  of  you  when  they  go.  You  are 
keeping  too  tight  a  rein  on  your  father  and  mother." 

And  independent  indeed  they  were.  One  sunny 
morning,  the  two  travellers  took  the  train,  and  went 
swiftly  down  the  familiar  road  to  their  old  home. 
All  Springdale  turned  out  to  receive  them.  There 


210          JANET: 

were  changes.  Young  people,  whom  Mr.  Ward  had 
left  in  the  adolescent  period,  were  now  married  and 
settled  in  their  own  abodes;  the  older  ones  were  a 
trifle  stouter,  or  whiter,  or  feebler,  but  everybody  was 
most  cordial,  and  from  lip  to  lip,  as  people  met,  the 
one  agitating  question  in  the  community  was,  "  Have 
you  seen  the  Wards  ?  Have  you  met  our  dear  old 
minister  ?"  People  came  from  long  distances  to  call. 
The  visit  was  an  event. 

The  young  minister,  the  third  who  had  been  in 
that  parish  since  David  Ward  had  left  it,  confided 
to  his  wife  in  the  privacy  of  the  breakfast  table  that 
the  adjective  old  was  misapplied. 

"  I  never  saw  a  younger  man,  nor  one  more  fasci 
nating.  He's  like  a  boy  for  simplicity  and  charm, 
like  a  man  for  knowledge  and  good  sense,  but  old, 
nonsense,  he's  just  at  the  meridian!" 

"Why,  Fred,  Mr.  Ward  must  be  sixty." 

"Oh,  possibly,  but  sixty  means  juvenility,  with  a 
blessed  temperament  like  his." 

The  young  wife  was  a  wee  bit  jealous  for  her 
husband,  observing  the  enthusiasm  of  the  parish  for 
the  former  pastor,  but  the  husband  was  a  man  of 
David  Ward's  type,  too  big  for  jealousy  or  envy. 
Only  little  men  are  capable  of  these  spiteful  vices. 

The  Sabbath  dawned  like  the  one  in  the  hymn, 

"  Sweet  day,  so  cool,  so  calm,  so  bright, 
The  bridal  of  the  earth  and  sky." 

And  it  having  been  noised  abroad  that  David  Ward 
would  preach,  the  congregation  came  from  every 
direction.  It  was  like  the  tribes  going  up  to  Jerusa 
lem.  Among  the  farmers  and  their  wives  and  chil- 


WORK     211 

dren,  was  a  scattering  of  city  visitors,  who  were 
staying  in  the  country  for  its  quiet  and  rest.  Mr. 
Leland  beamed.  Under  his  shaggy  brows,  his  eyes 
glowed  like  lamps.  If  he  had  ever  been  sensible  of 
the  torment  he  had  once  proved,  he  had  quite  for 
gotten  it  now,  and  it  was  v/ell  that  Janet  was  not  there, 
for  she  would  have  considered  him  insufferably 
patronizing.  He  almost  owned  Mr.  Ward,  and 
whenever,  in  the  sermon,  there  was  a  good  point,  or 
when  the  orator's  fire  broke  the  bond  of  the  preach 
er's  ordinary  restraint,  Mr.  Leland  scintillated  sym 
pathetic  approval,  nodded  his  old  head  with  delight, 
and  looked  about  to  catch  the  pleased  glances  of  the 
congregation. 

"Great  preaching,  that! "  said  a  man,  a  man  who 
looked  like  a  personage,  going  out  the  low  church 
door.  "  Who  is  the  minister  ?  " 

"David  Ward,  a  former  pastor  here,  now  a  home 
missionary  in  Tennessee." 

"I  wish  we  might  hear  him  in  Philadelphia,"  was 
the  reply. 

Very  strangely,  events  come  to  pass  in  this  world. 
Twenty  years  ago,  David  Ward's  cup  would  have 
been  full-brimmed  and  running  over,  if  he  had  been 
invited  to  preach,  as  a  candidate  though  indirectly,  in 
a  great  city  church.  He  was  farther  on  now.  He 
had  gone  beyond  the  desire  for  earthly  honor  and 
emolument,  and  had  reached  the  place  where  it  was, 
as  reverently  be  it  said,  it  had  been  his  Master's 
before  him,  his  meat  and  drink  to  do  the  will  of  Him 
that  sent  him.  And  the  years  in  the  mountains  had 
been  years  of  marvellous  growth  and  grand  develop 
ment.  He  had  learned  to  know  God  as  never  before, 


212  JANET  WARD 

and  a  rare  insight  had  been  granted  him  into  the  souls 
of  men.  David  Ward  was  a  magnificent  example  of 
what  Christ  can  do  with  a  man  who  has  wholly  sur 
rendered  himself  to  be  filled  with  the  Divine  life. 

He  was  invited  to  preach  in  the  city  pulpit,  a  few 
weeks  later,  and  the  preaching  made  a  sensation.  A 
child  could  understand  every  word,  and  a  philosopher 
find  food  in  the  sermon  for  a  famished  soul.  Cul 
ture,  sweetness,  freshness,  were  there,  something 
nurtured  in  a  desert  place,  apart.  What  David  Ward 
would  once  have  prized,  came  to  him  in  fullest  meas 
ure,  and  he  was  grateful,  but  when  men  urged  him 
to  accept  the  wider  field  of  usefulness  that  was  now 
beckoning,  he  had  but  one  answer, 

"I  am  pledged  to  the  mountain  folk,  and  with 
them  I  will  stay  henceforward."  From  this  position 
he  would  not  stir  an  inch. 

As  for  Mrs.  Ward,  she  threw  off  the  last  vestige  of 
illness,  and  looked  so  much  like  the  girl  he  had 
courted  years  ago,  that  her  husband's  rejoicing  over 
her  recovered  health  was  pathetic.  She  lost  the  wan, 
faded  look,  that  she  had  worn  so  long,  and  when  her 
Aunts  Katherine  and  Jessamy,  whom  she  went  to 
visit  after  saying  farewell  to  Springdale,  had  wrought 
their  will  on  her  wardrobe,  she  was  a  very  elegant 
dame,  indeed.  The  two  old  ladies  had  wealth,  and 
they  chose  to  do  as  they  thought  best  with  their 
favorite  niece.  Though  they  were  proud  of  Janet, 
they  were  not,  invariably,  satisfied  with  her.  She 
was  too  modern  to  suit  their  views,  and  too  assured 
in  taking  her  own  course.  They  were  survivors  of  a 
different  regime.  But  Janet's  mother  was  entirely  to 
their  mind.  They  dressed  her  in  thick  black  silks 


SETTLEMENT  WORK       213 

and  shimmering  gray  satins,  and  smiled,  in  a  superior 
way,  when  she  told  them  that  they  were  fitting  her 
out  with  a  trousseau  that  would  be  useless  in  Ten 
nessee. 

After  a  few  weeks  spent  in  travelling,  sight-seeing, 
meeting  old  clerical  friends,  browsing  in  libraries, 
and  looking  at  pictures,  rested  in  every  fibre  of  his 
being,  David  Ward  went  back  to  his  work.  His 
wife  stayed  awhile  longer  with  the  aunts,  and  Janet, 
her  parents  urging  her  to  do  so,  went  for  a  time  to 
New  York,  to  be  with  Nancy.  The  latter  was  win 
ning  notice  and  paying  her  way  under  distinguished 
patronage,  yet,  at  no  previous  time,  had  her  brave 
spirit  so  longed  for  the  unattainable  joy  of  kindred. 
Because  of  her  peculiar  sense  of  isolation,  Nancy  had 
held  herself  aloof  from  any  ties  except  those  of 
womanly  friendship. 

"I  shall  never  marry,"  she  said,  "  knowing  that  I 
cannot  enter  a  family  with  antecedents,  because  I 
have  none  of  my  own.  If  I  were  only  somebody's 
daughter,  however  humble,  I  would  not  care;  as  it  is, 
I  have  to  fight  against  morbidness  about  this,  by 
working  beyond  my  strength." 

Mrs.  Archer,  her  generous  friend,  knew  how  this 
preyed  upon  her,  and  kept  at  work,  searching  for 
the  lost  clue  to  her  parentage,  but  discreetly  kept  her 
own  counsel.  She  did  find  Nancy's  sister,  and  fitted 
facts  to  prove  the  identity  in  time. 

"Are  you  not  going  to  write  any  more ?"  asked 
an  acquaintance  of  Janet  when  they  met  in  the  colony 
one  evening. 

"I  cannot  write,"  Janet  replied. 

Every  author  except  an  occasional  gifted  being  who 


2H          JANET:  WARD 

has  risen  above  rules,  and  is  able  to  turn  out  copy 
with  the  regularity  of  a  machine,  knows  the  alterna 
tions  of  mood,  which  are  like  the  ebb  and  flow  of 
the  tide.  Days  come  when  the  tide  is  out.  The 
mind  refuses  to  act.  The  pen  lags.  If  the  forcing 
process  goes  on,  and  something  is  written  out  of  the 
empty  void,  it  is  commonly  later  rejected  as  worthless. 
Janet  had  exhausted  herself  in  more  than  one  direc 
tion.  She  had  thought,  studied,  felt,  and  above  all 
worried  too  much.  She  had  now  to  wait  for  the  fill 
ing  of  the  depleted  reservoir. 

It  was  a  propitious  moment  for  a  new  departure. 
She  left  Nancy  and  the  colony  somewhat  abruptly, 
and  impulsively  joined  herself  to  settlement  work 
away  down-town.  The  abruptness  did  not  dis 
turb  Nancy,  who  knew  Janet's  ability  to  reach  a 
sudden  decision,  and  the  impulsiveness  rather  pleased 
that  lenient  critic,  Theodore,  who  was  sure  that 
Janet's  life  would  be  more  wholesome,  if  less  sub 
jective,  and  more  occupied  with  outside  interests  and 
people  whom  she  could  help.  The  settlement  would 
take  her  outside  herself. 

The  Friendly  House  was  a  new  enterprise.  Hardly 
five  years  had  slipped  away  since  two  or  three  young 
women,  resting  literally  on  and  trusting  implicitly  in 
the  promises  of  God,  had  pitched  their  tent  in  a 
thronged  thoroughfare  of  the  East  Side.  Without 
money,  without  furniture,  but  with  a  tremendously 
vital  faith  in  God  and  in  the  power  of  the  gospel  of 
Christ,  they  had  begun  their  campaign.  Their  orig 
inal  pied  de  terre  was  a  small,  five-room  flat,  tucked 
away  in  the  heart  of  a  tall  tenement,  with  large 
families  to  the  right  and  the  left,  above  and  below. 


SETTLEMENT  WORK      215 

Living  there  in  poverty  and  privation,  they  waited  on 
the  Lord,  and  began  their  work.  Young  girls  and 
children  were  invited  into  their  rooms.  Presently 
somebody  sent  them  a  few  chairs  and  a  little  organ. 
Singing  of  the  most  familiar  hymns,  Bible  reading, 
pleasant  talks  followed,  and  soon  the  young  women 
of  the  neighborhood  found  out  that  there  was  always 
a  welcome  for  them  if  they  drifted  into  the  settle 
ment,  often  a  rocking-chair,  a  cup  of  coffee  and  a 
slice  of  cake. 

By  degrees,  the  five-room  flat  became  too  straight 
a  place,  and  as  the  means  were  provided,  as  con 
stantly  and  yet  as  mysteriously,  as  was  the  food 
brought,  morning  and  evening,  to  Elijah  by  the 
ravens,  the  settlement  moved.  When  Janet  sought 
it,  that  she  might  take  a  part  in  its  work,  it  was  lo 
cated  in  a  big  four-story  house,  of  which  every  room 
was  occupied.  The  house  fronted  on  a  great  open 
square,  and  was  sunny  and  clean. 

This  house  had  become  the  virtual  centre  of  the 
neighborhood.  Every  home  around  owned  a  share 
in  it.  Mothers  ran  in  to  consult  the  head  worker 
about  their  household  management,  or  the  resident 
doctor  about  their  sick  children.  If  a  daughter  was 
willful,  the  mother  told  this  wise  friend,  and  was 
comforted  and  counselled.  If  a  piece  of  good  for 
tune  came,  the  dear  friends  of  the  settlement  must  im 
mediately  hear  the  good  news.  Of  begging,  there  was 
little.  Self-respecting  poverty  does  not  demean  itself 
by  begging.  Of  almsgiving,  there  was  not  much. 
The  settlement  might  have  adopted  Peter's  declara 
tion  of  old,  "Silver  and  gold,  have  I  none,  but  such 
as  I  have,  that  I  give."  It  gave  lavishly. 


216  JANET  WARD 

Janet  found  here  a  sphere  for  her  energies  which 
was  most  congenial.  She  taught  literature,  and  the 
eager  girls  who  came  to  her  evening  classes,  made 
rapid  progress,  though  most  of  them  had  either  stood 
behind  counters  or  worked  at  machines  or  looms,  for 
many  hours  of  the  day.  Their  minds  were  receptive 
at  every  pore;  they  fairly  drank  in  what  Janet  had  to 
tell,  and  she  was  fain  to  furbish  up  what  she  had 
learned  at  Lucas,  and  to  do  her  best  for  the  students, 
who  asked  only  a  chance  for  mental  discipline. 
When  Janet  visited  their  homes,  saw  how  narrow 
were  their  quarters,  how  bare  of  comforts,  how 
crowded  and  ill-ventilated,  she  was  anew  impressed 
with  the  self-sacrifice  of  these  girls,  and  with  their 
intense  desire  for  real  culture.  They  were  like  plants 
pushing  steadily  upward  to  the  light.  And  how 
dearly  they  loved  those  who  taught  them! 

One  afternoon,  a  mother's  tea  was  in  progress. 
Once  a  week,  or  once  a  fortnight,  it  was  the  custom 
to  invite  the  hard-working  mothers  of  the  vicinity, 
to  come  with  their  babies  in  their  arms,  or  clinging 
to  their  skirts,  not  that  they  might  be  taught  anything 
practical,  sewing,  mending,  or  housekeeping,  but  just 
that  they  might  have  a  good  time  and  enjoy  them 
selves. 

Tables  were  spread  with  fair  white  linen,  and  set 
with  beautiful  china.  Flowers  adorned  them.  Young 
girls,  from  spacious  up-town  homes,  came  to  pour 
and  dispense  tea.  Some  one  played  on  the  piano; 
there  was  merry  talk,  and  fun  was  unchecked.  The 
guests  came  in  their  every-day  garb,  bare-headed,  or 
with  shawls  over  their  heads.  They  came  freely. 
Was  not  the  Friendly  House  their  very  own  ? 


WORK     217 

Janet,  standing  by  the  window,  had  often  seen  a 
tall,  sturdy,  very  aged  woman  pass  the  door.  Usu 
ally,  she  bore  a  basket  filled  with  chips  and  bits  of 
broken  plank,  gathered  from  the  debris  around  new 
buildings,  a  harvest  in  which  the  gleaners  are  the 
poor.  Her  eyes  were  bright,  but  her  face  was  a 
tissue  of  wrinkles,  crisscrossing  a  fine,  hearty,  strong 
old  face.  Many  such  are  seen  among  the  poor 
women  who  sell  apples  or  newspapers,  or  sit  by 
East  Side  doors  in  New  York. 

As  the  mother's  tea  was  at  its  height,  one  windy 
afternoon,  Janet  observed  this  ancient  matron  trudg 
ing  by  with  her  basket.  She  flew  out,  and  down 
the  steps,  meeting  her  before  she  had  passed. 

"Stop,  please,  gross  mutter,"  she  entreated. 
"  Come  in,  we  have  company,  and  we  want  you.  I 
have  been  watching  for  you  from  my  window." 
She  held  out  her  hand  persuasively. 

"  I  have  no  money,  mademoiselle,  thanks." 

"This  is  a  party  where  money  is  not  asked 
for." 

"I  have  no  clothes.  I  am  not  dressed  for  com 
pany." 

"This  is  a  company  where  friends  wear  whatever 
they  like.  We  just  want  you.  Please  come  in,  dear 
lady." 

The  old  guest  suffered  herself  to  be  entreated. 
She  entered,  setting  her  basket  carefully  in  a  corner 
of  the  hall.  Janet  conducted  her  to  a  place  of  honor, 
a  big  cushioned,  easy  chair.  A  pretty  maiden 
brought  her  a  cup  and  a  plate.  Every  attention  was 
paid  her.  As  she  ate  and  drank,  and  listened  to  the 
music,  she  said  to  Janet, 


218          JANET: 

"  It's  like  Heaven,  this,  the  music,  the  flowers,  the 
warm  room,  the  rest,  all  for  nothing!  " 

Then  when  she  saw  the  shadows  gathering  out 
side,  she  rose  to  take  leave.  At  the  door,  she  turned 
and  said  in  a  thrilling  voice, 

"  I  am  eighty  years  old.  I  have  lived  fifty  years  in 
New  York.  This  is  the  first  time  in  fifty  years  that 
I  have  ever  tasted  bread  under  any  one's  roof  but  my 
own." 

They  had  tucked  a  bunch  of  roses  in  among  her 
broken  wood,  and  when  she  took  the  wood  out, 
there,  hidden  away  beneath  it,  was  a  loaf  of  cake. 
Her  lonely  home  was  decorated  that  night,  as  for  a 
fete,  with  cake  on  the  table,  and  the  roses  in  a 
pitcher,  and  one  heart  uplifted  a  new  song  for  an 
unexpected  joy. 

Janet  wrote  to  her  father,  soon  after  this,  "I  am 
learning  that  the  Lord's  work  is  the  same  everywhere. 
If  one  tries  to  help  His  little  ones,  the  blessing  of  the 
'Inasmuch'  is  hers." 

"Come  and  give  me  a  lift,  will  you  not,  Janet,  in 
my  mission  ?  "  said  Mr.  Fuller.  ' '  The  Friendly  House 
has  more  workers  than  we  have,  and  the  work  needs 
you  I  can't  tell  you  how  much." 

Janet  was  restless.  The  more  she  did,  the  more 
she  wanted  to  do,  and  though  she  still  declined  to 
consider  herself  engaged  to  Mr.  Fuller,  she  was,  as 
her  friends  noticed  with  amusement,  a  good  deal 
under  his  orders.  What  he  suggested,  she  often  did, 
and  when  he  said  his  mission  had  a  vacant  place  that 
she  could  fill,  she'  was  not  unwilling  to  go  to  it. 
But  she  kept  her  room  at  the  settlement,  paying  her 
board.  Settlement  workers  are  always,  practically, 


WORK     219 

self-supporting,  and  so  put  themselves  on  the  level 
of  those  among  whom  they  live.  And  one  day,  she 
awakened  in  her  bare  cell  of  a  hall  room,  on  the 
fourth  floor,  overlooking,  far  below,  a  vista  of 
crowded  alleys  and  an  acreage  of  pulley  lines,  and  a 
rush  of  new  and  interesting  thoughts  filled  her  brain, 
she  seized  her  pen,  and  began  to  write.  Among 
them,  her  care  for  her  mother,  and  her  work  among 
East  Side  friends,  and  her  indecision  about  her  love, 
had  brought  Janet  the  germ  of  her  first  book.  She 
sat  for  hours  at  a  time,  scarcely  stopping  to  eat,  so 
absorbed  that  she  did  not  notice  what  was  going  on 
about  her.  The  head  worker  was  concerned,  fearing 
that  such  concentration  would  make  Janet  ill,  but  she 
had  learned  that  best  of  lessons,  to  let  folk  alone,  and 
give  them  liberty,  and  so  she  said  no  word  of  remon 
strance.  But  she  would  send  a  glass  of  milk  and  a 
biscuit  to  Janet  in  the  middle  of  the  morning,  and 
there  was  always  a  cup  of  tea  for  her  before  she 
went  out  in  the  afternoon,  as  she  always  did  at  five, 
when  Nancy  Wiburn  took  her  out  for  a  brisk  walk, 
in  all  weathers.  These  were  happy  times. 


XVII 

AN  EAST  SIDE  MISSION 

JANET  said  afterwards  that  her  book  almost 
wrote  itself.  The  story  came  to  her  full-fledged, 
and  was  written  with  an  elan,  a  vigor  that  made 
the  days  of  its  progress  memorable  in  her  experience. 
She  was  enjoying  a  reaction  from  the  anxiety  that 
had  tried  her  nerves,  and  there  was  as  well  a  re 
bound  due  to  her  rest  from  composition.  Her  book 
was  sent  to  a  publisher  and  was  so  promptly  ac 
cepted  that  for  weeks  she  walked  on  air,  and  her 
thoughts  were  keyed  to  the  lilt  of  a  song.  Nothing 
is  so  personal  as  one's  book,  into  which  one  has 
woven  one's  tissue  of  life.  Janet  could  hardly  wait 
for  the  happy  day  when  she  should  hold  the  first 
copy  in  her  hand.  Sometimes  she  dreamed  of  it. 

Meanwhile  she  continued  to  live  at  the  Friendly 
House,  but  she  widened  the  scope  of  her  work,  and 
spent  a  good  deal  of  time  in  the  Bethany  Mission. 
Among  other  new  departures  she  taught  a  Bible  class, 
the  girls  who  were  its  members  coming  to  her  from 
Italian  families  whose  homes  were  in  that  quarter. 
They  were  beautiful  young  girls,  with  liquid  eyes, 
dark  hair,  and  clear  olive  skins,  and  Janet  taught  them 
as  she  would  have  taught  little  children  the  sweet 
story  of  the  Saviour,  and  all  that  He  brought  to  the 
world.  She  did  a  good  deal  of  visiting,  too,  and 
found  out  for  herself  that  there  is  a  great  similarity 

220 


AN  EAST  SIDE  MISSION   221 

between  rich  and  poor,  that  the  same  chords  of  sym 
pathy  vibrate  everywhere  if  touched  by  a  gentle  and 
loving  hand. 

One  evening  Mr.  Fuller  sent  her  just  at  twilight, 
a  note  that  rather  startled  her,  yet  which  she  felt  she 
could  not  put  aside.  "I  am  laid  by,"  it  said,  "tonsi- 
litis;  that's  why  you  have  not  seen  me  since  Monday. 
I  had  promised  to  take  the  prayer-meeting  at  the 
mission  to-night,  but  I  cannot  go  out  of  the  house. 
Please  take  it  for  me.  Don't  refuse." 

Janet  was  familiar  with  the  conduct  of  women's 
meetings,  but  had  never  taken  a  conspicuous  part  in 
any  gathering  of  men.  She  had  attended  at  Bethany 
Chapel,  and  knew  pretty  well  the  character  of  the 
assemblages.  The  colder  and  rougher  the  night,  the 
more  men,  hungry,  chilled  to  the  bone,  poorly  clad, 
would  seek  warmth  and  shelter.  A  few  women 
would  come,  but  the  majority  would  be  men,  some 
young,  some  of  middle  age,  some  very  old.  They 
were  of  the  various  types  one  sees  in  a  great  city, 
and  a  similar  effect  of  battling  with  misfortune  was 
evident  in  them  all.  Men  out  of  work,  men  wan 
derers  from  home,  men  enslaved  to  drink,  men 
whom  the  world  had  little  use  for,  here  they  were, 
and  Janet's  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  at  eight  o'clock 
she  sat  on  the  platform  and  looked  over  the  room. 
A  great  sob  caught  her  throat.  In  another  moment 
she  would  be  hysterical. 

"This  won't  do,"  said  common  sense,  and  she 
braced  herself  resolutely,  and  prayed  inaudibly,  but  as 
one  does  who  must  take  hold  on  Him  that  is  mighty. 
Her  friend  began  to  sing,  and  Janet  soon  found  that 
the  men  could  sing,  too.  "  Saved  by  grace!  "  seemed 


222  JANET  WARD 

a  favorite  and  it  was  one  of  several  that  their  voices 
sent  ringing  to  the  roof.  A  young  man  stepped  out 
from  the  shadows  near  the  wall.  He  had  brought 
his  violin  and  to  its  accompaniment  in  a  rich  velvety 
tenor,  he  sang: 

"  I  saw  a  way-worn  traveller 

In  tattered  garments  clad : 
He  struggled  up  the  mountainside 

I  knew  that  he  was  sad. 
His  back  was  heavy  laden, 

His  strength  was  almost  gone, 
Yet  he  shouted  as  he  journeyed, 

Deliverance  shall  come  ! " 

As  the  singer  ceased,  a  great  chorus  gathered  into 
one  magnificent  sweep  of  sound,  the  refrain : 

"  Palms  of  victory,  crowns  of  glory, 
Palms  of  victory,  I  shall  bear !  " 

When  the  praise  service  ended,  Janet  rose,  and  her 
stage  fright  had  fled.  She  began  a  simple  home  talk 
to  her  audience,  bidding  them  be  of  good  courage, 
telling  them  the  old  tale  of  Gideon  and  his  little  band 
who  attacked  the  Midianites,  giving  them  as  their 
battle  cry,  "  The  sword  of  the  Lord  and  of  Gideon." 
It  was  a  new  pleasure,  feeling  that  her  words  were 
helping  some  of  the  tempted  and  tried. 

By  the  door  sat  a  poor  fellow,  who  looked  pecul 
iarly  dejected.  His  face  was  deathly  pale,  his  clothing 
old-fashioned,  his  eyes  downcast.  A  little  woman 
by  his  side,  wife  or  sweetheart,  Janet  could  not  tell 
which,  seemed  bristling  with  defiance  on  his  behalf, 
for  those  nearest  him  were  not  looking  at  him  with 
much  kindness,  and  even  in  that  crowd  of  sinners 


AN  EAST  SIDE  MISSION   223 

who  had  gone  far  astray  there  were  some  who  were 
superior  in  their  own  esteem  to  the  man  who  had 
been  in  prison.  To  the  man  himself  the  woman 
was  all  gentleness;  it  was  as  if  her  love  would  in 
terpose  a  shield  between  him  and  the  whole  hostile 
world.  Her  very  pose  was  eloquent  of  love  stronger 
than  death. 

Janet  went  up  to  the  two  and  held  out  her  hand. 

"Oh,  where  is  Mr.  Fuller,  please?"  cried  the 
woman. 

"Mr.  Fuller  is  ill,  that's  why  I  came;  can  I  do 
nothing  for  you  ?" 

"You  can't  do  Mr.  Fuller's  job,  miss,"  said  the 
woman.  "Rob  and  I  were  to  be  married  to-night. 
And  I  don't  know  what  to  do.  You  see  Rob's  been 
away  seven  years,  and  I've  waited  for  him,  and  he's 
got  nobody,  nobody  in  the  whole  country  but  me. 
We  were  to  be  married  to-night,  and  to-morrow  we 
were  going  to  the  West  to  start  over  again  among 
strangers.  What  shall  we  do  ?  You  know  what 
the  song  said,  Rob,  '  Deliverance  shall  come! '  Keep 
up  your  heart." 

Janet  turned  to  the  lady  who  was  waiting  for  her. 

"These  friends  wish  to  be  married.  Will  you  go 
with  them  and  me  to  Theodore?  He  will  surely 
marry  them,  or  get  some  one  else  to  do  it." 

"But  he  is  ill,  dear." 

"Yes,  but  he  isn't  in  desperate  danger,  and  he  will 
know  how  to  procure  a  minister.  Have  you  money 
enough  to  go  away  ?  "  she  asked  the  woman,  whose 
eyes  full  of  hope  were  fixed  on  her  face. 

"Yes,  plenty.  I've  been  saving,  and  Rob  has 
something  of  his  own,  haven't  you,  dear?" 


224          JANET:  WARD 

The  man  spoke  then  with  the  accent  of  one  who 
was  educated. 

"I'm  sorry  we  are  giving  so  much  trouble,  but  you 
see,  ladies,  I've  been  away  so  long,  shut  up  behind 
bars,  that  I  am  shy  about  going  anywhere  myself. 
Rachael  has  been  true  to  me.  I've  been  pretty  low 
down,  but  I'll  be  true  to  her,  God  helping  me." 

"  God  helping  you,  my  friend,  you  will  lead  a 
strong,  pure  life  in  the  open,"  said  Janet.  "Forget 
the  past,  and  begin  over.  It  isn't  too  late.  God  will 
help  you  to  forgive  yourself,  since  He  is  willing  to 
forgive  you." 

The  four  went  through  the  streets,  now  storm- 
beaten,  to  Mr.  Fuller's  house.  He  was  up  and  in  his 
study,  not  too  ill  to  marry  the  couple,  and  with  Janet 
and  her  friend  for  witnesses,  they  were  made  one. 
Mr.  Fuller's  housekeeper  was  called  and  the  man  was 
fitted  out  with  clothing  of  comfortable  weight  and  in 
the  style  of  the  day,  and  a  heavy  overcoat  given 
him. 

"Pass  these  things  on  to  somebody  in  want  when 
you  are  able,"  said  the  donor. 

"I  have  no  power  to  thank  you,  dearest,"  said 
Theodore  to  Janet,  when  in  the  wake  of  the  bridal 
pair,  she  said  good-night. 

Various  was  the  work  she  was  called  on  for  in  that 
mission.  On  her  rounds  one  day,  she  came  upon  a 
woman  crying,  with  her  head  on  the  table.  It  was 
almost  supper  time,  but  there  was  no  sign  of  supper, 
and  an  empty  beer  can  told  where  the  wages  that 
should  have  paid  for  a  man's  evening  meal  had 
gone. 

"Oh,    Molly  Byrne,    Molly  Byrne!"  said   Janet. 


AN  EAST  SIDE  MISSION   225 

"What  did  you  promise  me?  Why  have  you  not 
kept  your  word?" 

The  woman  lifted  a  tear  stained  swollen  face. 

"  I  didn't  mean  to,  Miss  Janet,"  she  said,  "  but  the 
drink  gets  hold  of  me,  and  then  it's  no  use.  It  would 
be  a  good  day  for  John,  if  I'd  drown  meself  in  the 
river." 

"  Molly,  that  is  nonsense."  Janet  dealt  with  her  as 
with  a  naughty  child.  "Wash  your  face  and  hands 
and  put  on  a  clean  apron  and  tidy  up  this  dreadful 
room.  I'm  going  out  for  meat  to  make  a  stew,  and 
I'll  get  John's  supper  in  a  jiffy,  or  at  least  I'll  begin  to 
cook  it.  Why,  Molly,  you  who  have  a  man  who 
doesn't  touch  beer  should  be  ashamed  to  take  it  your 
self." 

The  home  where  the  man  has  to  dree  the  weird  of 
a  drunken  wife  is  a  hundred  times  worse  and  more 
like  the  pit,  than  the  home  to  which  a  drunken  hus 
band  brings  woe  and  terror.  The  latter  is  a  home 
desecrated  indeed,  but  the  former  is  a  sanctuary 
profaned. 

Janet  was  valiantly  fighting  to  rescue  this  poor 
weak  Molly,  and  she  would  not  give  her  up.  Again 
and  again  Molly  slipped  back,  but  the  brave,  alert, 
resourceful  helper  was  presently  at  her  side  and  in 
the  end  Molly  conquered  her  evil  appetite. 

Another  phase  of  Janet's  East  Side  work  was  her 
cooking  class.  To  prepare  food  in  an  economical 
and  dainty  way  is  a  lady's  accomplishment.  Mar 
ried  in  their  early  youth,  having  spent  their  days  after 
leaving  school  in  factory  or  shop  work,  the  East  Side 
wives  and  mothers  have  no  knowledge  of  the  com 
monest  household  lore.  They  cannot  make  bread 


226  JANET  WARD 

nor  cook  meat,  nor  brew  tea  or  coffee  as  it  should 
be,  and  of  the  value  that  lies  in  broths  and  soups 
they  are  ignorant.  Janet  did  not  call  her  cooking- 
school  a  class.  In  her  friendliest  manner  she  would 
drop  in  upon  a  neighbor,  and  offer  to  help  her  with  a 
new  recipe  that  had  been  sent  to  her  from  home. 
Two  or  three  gossips  would  come  in;  Janet's  genial 
air,  in  which  there  was  no  patronage,  made  her 
popular.  Without  apparent  intention  she  raised  the 
housekeeping  standard  around  the  mission,  until  the 
saloon  keepers  wondered  what  subtle  influence  was 
undermining  their  trade. 

She  told  Theodore  that  one  woman  was  rock  of 
adamant  to  all  her  entreaties. 

"  She  slams  her  door  hard,  if  she  sees  me  coming. 
She  passes  me  haughtily  on  the  street.  She  shows 
me  that  her  house  is  her  castle  and  that  I  shall  never 
be  permitted  to  cross  her  threshold." 

"  To  every  citadel  there  is  an  entrance,  dear,"  said 
Theodore.  "  We  must  find  out  hers." 

Spring  had  returned,  and  near  Bethany  Mission 
was  a  flower-market.  Janet,  sometimes  rising  very 
early,  went  there  for  a  bouquet  to  put  on  the  break 
fast  table  at  the  Friendly,  or  for  blossoms  to  cheer  up 
her  sick  people.  Buying  a  basketful  one  day  she 
saw,  standing  a  little  way  off  and  gazing  wistfully  at 
the  flowers,  the  woman  who  always  repelled  her  ad 
vances.  Obeying  an  impulse,  Janet  detached  a 
beautiful  red  rose  from  her  bunch  and  as  she  passed 
the  woman,  laid  it  in  her  hand,  waiting  for  no  thanks. 

That  afternoon,  as  she  was  returning  from  one  of 
her  informal  cooking-classes,  a  little  dark-eyed  girl 
pulled  her  gown. 


AN  EAST  SIDE  MISSION   227 

"Please  lady,"  she  said,  "mamma  would  like  to 
speak  to  you." 

Janet  turned,  and  there  a  few  paces  off  stood  at  her 
door,  with  a  very  pleasant  face,  the  woman  who 
had  kept  her  at  arm's  length  for  weeks.  She  was 
one  of  a  group,  some  of  whom  were  lounging  on  the 
steps,  some  chatting  with  neighbors,  others  caring 
for  children  who  thronged  as  it  seems  children  do 
where  they  are  the  only  wealth.  The  pedestrian  in 
some  quarters  must  walk  with  circumspection  lest  he 
step  on  the  babies  who  creep  about  under  foot.  A 
characteristic  of  the  East  Side  is  that  the  women  have 
endless  time  to  spend  in  talk,  their  frowzy  looks, 
disordered  dress  and  neglected  homes  paying  the 
penalty  of  their  idleness. 

"You  were  good  to  give  me  that  rose,"  said  the 
woman,  "and  I  beg  your  pardon  for  having  been 
rude  to  you.  The  flower  took  me  home  again; 
please  forgive  me,  lady." 

"That  is  all  right," said  Janet  in  her  sweetest  way; 
she  was  so  happy  at  this  friendly  change  of  attitude 
that  she  could  have  hugged  the  woman.  "Where 
was  home?" 

"  In  Devonshire.  My  father  was  a  gardener.  We 
had  splendid  roses  over  there.  If  only  I  could  bring 
my  children  up  among  the  roses,  how  different  it 
would  bel  This  hateful  New  York  is  killing  me, 
lady." 

This  was  for  Janet  the  beginning  of  a  welcome  in 
the  English  woman's  home,  and  her  reserve  passed 
away.  The  flower  had  done  what  nothing  else  had 
been  able  to  do,  it  had  been  a  messenger  of  kindness 
to  a  discontented  soul. 


228          JANET:  WARD 

"My  little  Mary  is  the  only  one  of  my  children 
who  was  born  in  England  and  who  remembers  any 
thing  about  our  old  home,"  Mrs.  Arnold  told  her 
later,  "and  she  is  too  delicate  to  work,  and  sits  by 
the  window  all  day,  wishing  for  green  fields.  I  took 
the  rose  to  her  that  morning,  and  she  cried  for  joy." 

Mrs.  Arnold  had  a  great  aversion  to  missions,  and 
fiercely  resented  anything  like  interference  or  con 
descension.  But  when  Janet  heard  all  her  story,  a 
story  of  defeat,  privation,  desperate  strife  against 
odds,  her  husband  dead  a  year  after  they  came  to 
New  York,  her  baby  buried  in  potter's  field,  she  was 
very  compassionate.  She  wrote  to  Elizabeth  and 
enlisted  her  interest,  and  when  the  August  heats  fell 
intensely  on  New  York  streets  and  the  tenements 
were  baked  as  in  a  seething  oven,  Janet  had  the 
pleasure  of  sending  Mrs.  Arnold  and  her  three  children 
up  country  to  Dene's  Mills,  where  Elizabeth  put  them 
in  a  little  vine-embowered  cottage,  and  Elizabeth's 
mother  found  employment  in  the  dairy  for  the  English 
stranger,  so  that  she  felt  that  she  was  not  living  on 
charity.  The  help  that  counts  must  be  individual. 

The  ramifications  of  a  mission  are  many.  Of  his 
people  Mr.  Fuller  asked  money  that  he  might  carry 
on  outdoor  work,  send  ailing  babies  to  the  seashore, 
provide  relief  for  tired  fathers  and  mothers,  and  ex 
tend  a  helpful  hand  to  the  aged.  He  took  no  vaca 
tion  in  the  first  year  of  his  pastorate,  desiring  to 
study  more  deeply  the  sociological  problems  that  in 
summer  confront  a  minister  in  a  great  city.  They 
are  even  more  puzzling  than  the  winter  ones. 

"Is  it  wise,"  said  a  friend,  "to  give  yourself  no 
recreation?" 


AN  EAST  SIDE  MISSION   229 

"I  am  well  and  strong,  I  can  take  outings  when  I 
choose.  Next  summer  it  may  not  be  my  duty  to  stay. 
I  believe  that  a  man  should  rest  when  he  is  tired. 
But  I'm  not  tired,  and  this  summer  I'll  stay  in  town." 

The  young  women  who  were  spending  the  sum 
mer  in  the  colony  read  between  the  lines  that  there 
was  a  very  cogent  reason  for  the  young  man's  de 
cision,  and  a  compensation  for  any  self-denial  in  the 
case,  because  Janet  and  he  were  much  together. 
August,  however,  brought  her  letters  from  home, 
which  hurried  her  away.  Mr.  Ward  wrote  urgently 
that  the  family  needed  her,  and  she  packed  her  trunks 
and  went  back  to  remain  indefinitely  in  Tennessee. 
Meanwhile  there  was  enough  for  Mr.  Fuller  to  do  in 
town.  So  many  pastors  were  absent,  that  he  was 
called  upon  for  ministries  not  to  the  poor  alone,  but  to 
some  of  the  homeless  rich,  those  who  live  in  hotels  and 
boarding-houses,  those  who  have  no  church  of  their 
own,  and  who  often  when  sickness  or  death  comes, 
have  no  clergyman  on  whom  they  may  call.  He 
comforted  many  who  were  in  sorrow,  and  gave 
counsel  to  some  who  were  in  perplexity,  and  the 
summer  passed  like  a  dream  away. 

And  he  corresponded  with  Janet,  rather  unequally 
writing  three  letters  to  her  one. 


xvm 

BACK  TO  THE  MANSE 

ON  the  way  home,  there  was  an  accident  to 
the  engine  which  delayed  Janet's  train  at  a 
little  station,  several  hours.  The  pas 
sengers,  assured  that  they  could  not  get  on  with 
their  journey,  sauntered  about  the  bit  of  a  village, 
gathered  flowers,  and  otherwise  amused  themselves. 
Janet  espied  a  little  weather  beaten  cabin  not  far  from 
the  road,  and  had  the  curiosity  to  go  up  to  it,  as  it 
struck  her  as  especially  forlorn,  neither  chickens  nor 
children  straying  about  its  tidy  dooryard,  and  this  in 
a  part  of  the  country  where  every  cabin  and  hovel, 
however  humble,  has  its  full  complement  of  both. 
As  she  tapped  at  the  door,  she  heard  the  regular 
thud,  thud,  of  an  iron,  and  when  somebody  said, 
"Come  in,"  she  entered,  to  see  a  clothes-horse 
crowded  with  fragrant  sheets  and  pillow-slips,  while 
a  great  basket,  packed  with  dampened  pieces, 
awaited  the  smoothing  iron. 

The  woman,  standing  by  the  table,  lifted  up  a  face 
so  strained  and  desolate,  that  Janet's  heart  went  out, 
at  once,  to  her  in  a  burst  of  pity.  What  had  happened 
to  give  that  look  of  utter  and  comfortless  woe,  to  a 
woman's  eyes  ? 

"May  I  sit  here,  and  keep  you  company,"  she 
asked,  "while  the  men  repair  the  engine ?" 

230 


BACK  TO  THE  MANSE      231 

Listlessly,  the  hostess  of  the  moment  assented. 
Janet  watched  her  as  she  toiled  with  feverish  haste 
and  unflagging  energy,  the  energy  and  the  haste  of 
desperation. 

"You  are  too  tired  to  work  so  hard,  I'm  afraid," 
she  ventured,  after  a  little  interval,  during  which  the 
woman  had  not  noticed  her. 

"  I  must  work  or  die,"  was  the  answer. 

"Well,  then,"  said  Janet  positively,  "let  me  help 
you.  The  train  cannot  start  in  two  hours.  I  know 
how  to  iron  beautifully,  and  I  will  be  so  glad  to  give 
you  a  lift  with  this  big  basket  full  of  things.  My 
dear  mother  taught  me  how  to  do  everything  that 
needs  to  be  done  in  a  house,  and  I  thank  her  for  it 
every  day  of  my  life.  I'm  going  home  to  her,  now. 
She's  very  ill,  and  needs  her  daughter." 

The  woman  looked  doubtful,  but  as  she  watched 
Janet's  deft  movements,  her  scrutiny  passed  from 
suspicion  to  approval.  The  trim,  slender  girl,  in 
shirt  waist  and  short  skirt,  with  hat  thrown  off,  and 
alert,  quick  manner,  was  so  capable  and  so  swift  that 
the  most  notable  ironer  could  have  found  no  fault 
with  her  performance.  After  a  few  moments,  the 
woman  said, 

"I'm  doing  this  for  the  hotel;  it's  a  mile  back 
there,  out  of  sight.  Lots  of  city  people  stay  at  the 
hotel  in  hot  weather.  My  husband  has  work  in  the 
garden  and  on  the  farm,  and  they  pay  good  wages. 
He  brings  the  clothes  back  and  forth  for  me.  I  was 
the  happiest  woman  in  the  State  till  a  month  ago, 
when  my  little  girl,  my  only  child,  was  killed  by  the 
train." 

Janet  stopped  ironing.     She  did  not  say  a  word. 


232  JANET  WARD 

She  did  what  was  better,  she  put  her  arms  around 
the  poor  woman's  neck,  and  drew  her  head  upon  her 
shoulder. 

"Oh,  you  poor,  poor,  poor  thing!"  she  whis 
pered.  "  Yes,  dear,  cry,  that  will  do  you  good." 

She  had  seen  enough  of  heart-break  to  know  the 
anguish  of  tearless  eyes. 

The  woman  did  cry.  Her  tears  and  sobs  relieved 
her.  She  had  felt  that  she  was  growing  mad  with 
the  agony  she  was  bearing.  Janet  did  not  dream  it, 
but  she  was  an  angel  of  God,  in  that  cabin,  that 
summer  morning,  and  she  carried  His  comfort  to 
an  aching  heart. 

"  Flossie  was  going  to  her  grandmother's,  up  the 
road.  We  never  let  her  cross  the  track  alone;  her 
father  and  I  were  always  careful.  She  had  no  need 
to  go  that  way,  for  the  road  winds  around  above, 
and  is  safe,  but  she  took  a  short  cut,  and  the  engine 
struck  her,  and  she  was  killed  that  instant.  No,  she 
wasn't  crushed,  except  the  back  of  her  head.  Her 
sweet  face  was  not  marred.  She  looked  as  if  she 
was  asleep.  They  stopped  the  train,  and  picked  her 
up  and  carried  her  in,  my  Flossie,  that  had  danced 
away  so  light-hearted,  a  little  while  before.  My 
God!  My  God!"  cried  the  woman,  throwing  up  her 
arms  and  moaning,  "I  cannot  bear  it.  I  cannot  bear  it." 

Janet  said,  "  No,  you  cannot  bear  it.  Not  all  alone. 
Christ  can  help  you  bear  it.  Let  us  ask  Him." 

She  knelt  right  down  on  the  bare  floor.  As  simply 
as  if  she  saw  the  Lord,  she  besought  Him  to  help 
this  suffering  one,  to  show  her  the  meaning  of  life, 
to  give  her  submission  to  His  will.  "  May  she  know 
how  safe  her  darling  is  in  heaven.  May  she  realize 


BACK  TO  THE  MANSE      233 

that  she  is  alive  and  waiting  for  her.  May  she  have 
great  peace." 

' '  Aboard !  Aboard !  "  sharply  called  the  conductor. 
Janet  kissed  her  new  friend,  and  was  gone.  As  she 
stepped  on  the  platform  to  take  her  place  in  her  own 
car,  she  was  accosted  by  a  joyful  voice. 

"Why,  surely,  surely,  here  is  Janet  Ward." 

"My  dear  Miss  Prescott!"  Janet's  face  a  mo 
ment  ago  tear-wet,  broke  into  a  radiant  smile,  little 
short  of  rapture. 

"Yes,  I  have  been  on  the  train  since  early  morn 
ing.  I  leave  it  in  two  hours.  I  wish  we  had  met 
sooner.  We  might  have  had  this  long  wait  to 
gether." 

"It  would  have  been  lovely,  but  I'm  glad  it  was 
not  in  our  power  to  see  through  opaque  walls,"  said 
Janet.  "  I  might  not  have  seen  poor  Flossie's  mother, 
if  I  had  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  you."  And  she 
told  the  little  incident  that  had  given  her  a  chance  to 
be  a  sister  of  consolation. 

"God  gives  us  these  unexpected  opportunities, 
sometimes.  They  are  part  of  His  plan." 

Miss  Prescott  and  Janet  had  many  threads  to  take 
up,  in  their  happy  meeting,  for  though  they  had  oc 
casionally  corresponded,  there  were  long  intervals  of 
silence  between  the  letters,  as  must  be  the  case  with 
busy  people.  They  were  glad  to  arrange  for  some 
future  meetings,  and  Janet  felt  rested  as  she  looked 
into  the  strong,  serene  face  of  her  friend.  Suddenly 
she  realized  that  she  was  very,  very  tired. 

"I  have  been  carrying  loads  and  working  hard, 
Miss  Prescott.  And  life  is  sometimes  anxious  and 
very  hard  to  bear." 


234          JANET:  WARD 

"Yes,  dear,"  said  her  friend,  "of  course  it  is 
often  so.  Yet  should  it  be  ?  The  dear  Lord  never 
means  one  of  His  children  to  carry  an  anxious  heart. 
He  says  expressly,  '  Take  no  thought  for  the  mor 
row,  the  morrow  shall  take  thought  for  the  things  of 
itself.'  And  over  and  over  again,  in  His  word,  in 
one  form  or  another,  He  bids  us  cast  our  care  upon 
Him.  So  why  carry  what  our  Lord  will  carry  for  us  ?  " 

"It  isn't  about  myself,  Miss  Prescott;  it's  about 
my  dear  mother  that  I  am  disturbed.  For  the  last 
two  years  it's  just  been  like  a  pendulum,  swinging 
now  this  way  and  now  that,  our  solicitude  for  her, 
and  we  are  afraid  that  she'll  never  stay  well,  though  a 
few  months  ago  we  were  assured  that  she  would 
overcome  every  difficulty." 

"  Dear,"  said  Miss  Prescott,  "  I  fancy  that  you  may 
have  a  period  before  you  when  you  will  need  all  the 
calmness,  composure,  and  courage,  that  God  can  give 
you.  Would  it  not  be  well  to  ask  God  to  supply  you 
abundantly,  for  the  trial,  whatever  it  may  be  ?  Your 
mother  is  God's  child,  too;  if  you  can  trust  her  to 
God,  no  evil  can  befall  her.  If  she  is  to  be  an  in 
valid,  you  must  accept  that,  and  brighten  up  her 
days;  you  cannot  let  her  see  a  sorrowful  countenance 
in  her  room.  There  is  wonderful  wisdom  in  living 
an  hour  at  a  time,  filling  the  hour  with  trust.  But 
there,  I  did  not  mean  to  preach  a  sermon." 

"You  haven't,  but  you've  helped  me.  You  will 
come  to  the  manse,  if  you  can,  before  you  go  home, 
will  you  not? " 

Miss  Prescott  promised.  They  separated,  as  the 
dusk  fell  over  the  landscape,  and  through  the  even 
ing  darkness,  the  train  rushed  away  to  the  wayside 


BACK  TO  THE  MANSE      235 

station  where  Janet  stepped  out,  to  be  greeted  by  her 
father  and  two  tall  brothers.  Through  the  dewy 
lanes,  flower-scented,  through  the  road  overarched 
by  great  trees,  and  up  the  hillside,  the  old  pony 
trotted,  and  Janet,  leaning  back  in  the  comfortable 
surrey,  felt  as  if  she  had  never  been  away. 

At  the  manse  door,  her  mother  met  her,  a  slender, 
almost  girlish,  figure,  dressed  in  white.  Janet  was 
startled  at  her  mother's  beauty.  It  was  as  if  the 
years  had  slipped  from  her  like  a  sheath,  and  the 
delicate  bloom  of  her  twenties  had  returned.  Mrs. 
Ward  was  ethereal  in  her  grace  and  lack  of  color. 
She  had  lost  the  faint  pink  that  had  lingered  in  her 
cheeks,  and  her  skin  was  of  the  texture  and  tint  of  a 
white  rose.  Even  her  joy,  at  having  her  daughter 
beside  her  again,  was  not  enough  to  bring  a  touch  of 
red  to  change  her  pallor.  Though  so  fragile,  she 
made  no  allusion  to  pain  or  weakness,  and  was  so 
gay  and  blithe-hearted,  that  first  night,  that  Janet 
was  charmed  and  deceived.  But  the  next  morning 
the  mother  did  not  rise  for  breakfast,  and  as  the  one 
thing  on  which  she  had  always  insisted  was  that  un 
less  absolutely  ill  she  must  herself  pour  the  morning 
coffee,  Janet  saw  that  the  brave  spirit  was  not  able 
to  fight  against  the  ailing  body. 

The  manse  habit  was  to  have  prayers  before  break 
fast.  Janet  rose  early,  came  down  and  supervised 
the  little  handmaid,  who  was  the  helper  for  the  time; 
then  went  into  the  little  square  room,  which  was 
parlor  and  study  combined,  her  father  having  moved 
his  books  there  that  he  might  always  be  close  to  his 
wife  when  she  needed  him.  Her  room  was  a  cham 
ber  across  the  hall,  and  the  hall  of  good  size,  sunny  and 


236  JANET  WARD 

cheerful,  was  the  place  where  the  boys  kept  the  guns 
and  fishing  tackle,  and  where  much  of  the  every-day 
life  of  the  manse  went  on. 

"  Doesn't  mother  come  to  breakfast  ?  "  asked  Janet. 

"Not  now,  daughter.  Mother  stays  in  her  room 
till  eleven  o'clock.  Dr.  Huntoon  likes  her  to  save  her 
strength.  Run  in  and  say  good-morning  to  her,  and 
we'll  have  prayers,  if  she's  able,  in  her  room." 

Janet  never  forgot  the  hymn  they  sang  that  morn 
ing.  Her  brother  Stuart  went  to  the  piano,  and  the 
tune  was  "Martyrs." 

"  From  all  Thy  saints  in  warfare, 
For  all  Thy  saints  at  rest, 
To  Thee,  O  blessed  Jesus, 
All  praises  be  addressed. 
Thou,  Lord,  didst  win  the  battle 
That  they  might  conquerors  be ; 
Their  crowns  of  living  glory 
Are  lit  with  rays  from  Thee. 

"  Apostles,  prophets,  martyrs, 
And  all  the  sacred  throng, 
Who  wear  the  spotless  raiment, 
Who  raise  the  ceaseless  song ; 
For  these,  passed  on  before  us, 
Saviour,  we  Thee  adore  ; 
And  walking  in  their  footsteps, 
Would  serve  Thee  more  and  more. 

"  Then  praise  we  God,  the  Father, 
And  praise  we  God,  the  Son, 
And  God,  the  Holy  Spirit, 
Eternal  Three  in  One. 
Till  all  the  ransomed  number 
Fall  down  before  the  throne, 
And  honor,  power,  and  glory, 
Ascribe  to  God  alone." 


BACK  TO  THE  MANSE      237 

Her  father  took  the  Book,  and  read  a  chapter  from 
Ezekiel.  His  very  tones  were  as  an  uplifting  force 
to  Janet's  heart,  somehow,  as  he  read, 

"  For  thus  saith  the  Lord  God,  '  Behold  I  Myself, 
even  I,  will  search  for  My  sheep,  and  will  seek  them 
out.  As  a  shepherd  seeketh  out  his  flock  in  the  day 
that  he  is  among  his  sheep  that  are  scattered  abroad, 
so  will  I  seek  out  My  sheep;  and  I  will  deliver  them 
out  of  all  places  whither  they  have  been  scattered  in 
the  cloudy  and  dark  day.  And  I  will  bring  them  out 
of  the  peoples,  and  gather  them  from  the  countries, 
and  will  bring  them  into  their  own  land,  and  I  will 
feed  them  upon  the  mountains  of  Israel  by  the  water 
courses,  and  in  all  the  inhabited  places  of  the  coun 
try.  I  will  feed  them  with  good  pasture,  and  upon 
the  mountains  of  the  height  of  Israel  shall  their  fold 
be;  there  shall  they  lie  down  in  a  good  fold,  and  on 
a  fat  pasture  shall  they  feed  upon  the  mountains  of 
Israel.  I  Myself  will  feed  My  sheep  and  will  cause 
them  to  lie  down,'  saith  the  Lord  God.  'I  will  seek 
that  which  was  lost,  and  will  bring  again  that  which 
was  driven  away,  and  will  bind  up  that  which  was 
broken,  and  will  strengthen  that  which  was  sick.' " 

Blessings  on  the  Old  Testament.  They,  who  pass 
over  the  wonderful  words  of  our  Lord  in  the  prophe 
cies  and  in  the  psalms,  lose  much  of  strong  consola 
tion.  Mr.  Ward,  in  the  family,  always  read  in  a  low 
voice,  but  with  peculiar  lingering  over  the  passages 
he  loved.  He  sat  beside  the  bed,  and  as  he  read,  one 
hand  held  his  wife's.  Janet  saw  the  contrast,  hers, 
thin,  almost  transparent,  clinging  to  the  husband's 
hand,  that  was  firm,  and  brown,  and  strong.  "  How 
they  love  one  another,"  she  thought.  "  How  they 


238  JANET  WARD 

love  one  another.  How  will  they  ever  endure  to  be 
separated  ?" 

Kneeling,  Mr.  Ward  commended  the  household  to 
God  for  the  new  day,  in  a  prayer  so  intimate  in 
phrase  and  feeling  that  Janet  felt  as  if  the  Mercy  Seat 
were  indeed  there  in  her  father's  sight. 

She  marvelled,  as  she  went  about  that  first  day,  at 
the  ease  of  the  household  comradeship.  Confront 
ing  the  fact,  as  it  lifted  its  head  like  a  barrier  across 
her  path,  that  change  and  loss  were  coming  to  them 
soon,  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  be  natural.  She 
was  under  a  strange  constraint.  But  her  father  told 
merry  stories,  and  the  boys  went  in  and  out,  laugh 
ing,  whistling,  chatting,  just  as  they  always  had. 
People  came  to  the  manse,  too,  as  they  always  had; 
a  continual  procession  of  visitors,  who  had  to  see  the 
minister,  on  one  or  another  errand.  Her  youngest 
brother,  little  Ben,  who  had  shot  up  into  a  great  lad, 
was  strumming  on  his  banjo,  or  conning  his  Latin 
lesson,  and  a  half  dozen  boys  stopped  in,  during  the 
day,  to  ask  Mr.  Ward's  help  over  some  hard  place  in 
their  studies.  Dr.  Huntoon  casually  called,  at  least 
he  seemed  to  happen  in  as  if  by  accident,  and  after 
he  had  talked  to  Mr.  Ward  in  the  study,  with  an 
effect  of  merely  stopping  a  moment  for  politeness, 
he  looked  in  at  Mrs.  Ward's  room,  pronounced  her 
better,  and  went  cheerfully  off,  complimenting  Janet 
on  her  authorship,  and  declaring  that  she  was  prettier 
than  ever,  almost  as  pretty  as  her  mother,  but  not 
quite.  "No,  not  quite,"  he  repeated. 

Mrs.  Ward  was  at  the  noonday  dinner;  in  the 
manse  they  adopted  country  ways,  and  lived  as  their 
neighbors  did.  After  dinner,  her  husband  took  her 


BACK  ro  THE  MANSE      239 

and  Janet  for  a  drive,  and  they  stopped  now  and 
then  at  some  friendly  house,  and  while  Mr.  Ward 
went  in  for  a  brief  pastoral  inquiry,  hardly  a  visit, 
Janet  and  her  mother  talked.  The  mother  had  taken 
on  something  of  her  husband's  old  eagerness;  she 
was  animated  as  Janet  had  never  known  her  to  be. 
There  was  a  strain  of  expectancy  about  her,  and  her 
eyes  were  like  stars,  in  her  white  face. 

Late  that  evening,  when  the  boys  had  gone  to 
keep  some  appointment,  and  Mrs.  Ward  had  retired, 
and  was  asleep,  Janet  rushed  to  her  father,  and  threw 
herself  in  his  arms. 

"  Oh,  dad,  dad!  "  she  exclaimed,  "  what  does  it  all 
mean  ?  Are  we  to  lose  mother  ?  Why  do  you  trust 
Dr.  Huntoon  ?  Has  everything  been  done  ?" 

He  gathered  her  in  his  lap  and  held  her  as  if  she 
had  been  a  little  child,  smoothing  her  hair  with 
tender  touches.  An  infinite  patience  had  overlaid 
the  old  vehemence  of  David  Ward. 

"Everything  has  been  done  that  can  be  done, 
daughter,"  he  said.  "We  hope  to  keep  our  dear 
one  a  good  while.  The  end  is  in  God's  hands.  His 
will,  not  ours,  must  be  done." 

"Father,  dear,"  said  Janet,  "I  sometimes  hate 
God's  will.  It  seems  so  cruel  and  unjust." 

"Do  not  say  that,  Janet.  Do  not  feel  it.  If  you 
feel  it,  remember  that  the  feeling  is  a  temptation  of 
the  devil.  God's  will  is  my  only  comfort  now,  the 
pillow  on  which  I  rest  my  head,  the  balm  which 
soothes  my  heart.  God  is  never  cruel,  nor  unjust. 
If  it  is  best  for  us  to  drink  this  bitter  cup,  He  will  in 
fuse  it  with  sweetness.  You  are  overwrought  and 
very  tired.  Everything  will  look  brighter  to  you 


240          JANET:  WARD 

when  you  are  rested,  and  when  you  can  accept  God's 
will." 

Days  came  and  went.  They  slipped  away,  Janet 
thought,  like  beads  from  a  broken  string.  At  the 
moment  the  days  were  hard  to  bear,  but  to  the  end 
of  her  life  they  will  be  beautiful,  in  Janet's  remem 
brance. 

One  morning  she  heard,  very  early,  the  tinkle  of 
her  mother's  little  silver  bell.  Her  father  had  a  bed 
in  the  hall,  and  Janet  slept  in  a  room  at  the  head  of 
the  stairs,  with  her  door  open.  If  the  mother  wished 
anything  she  touched  the  bell.  Janet  heard  her  say, 
as  Mr.  Ward  stirred  to  go  to  her, 

"Not  you,  this  time,  dear.  Sleep  on,  I  want 
Janet." 

The  minister  had  ridden  forty  miles  the  day  before. 
He  was  fatigued,  and  in  a  moment  sleep  held  him 
fast  again.  But  Janet  was  fresh  and  bright,  after  a 
good  night's  rest. 

"I  want  to  tell  you,  dear,"  said  the  mother,  "that 
I  have  had  a  wonderful  experience.  The  Lord  has 
so  revealed  Himself  to  me  this  night  that  I  can  hardly 
wait  to  go  home.  All  along,  I  have  had  a  withdraw 
ing  from  Him.  I  have  not  wanted  to  leave  this 
world.  I  have  not  been  able  to  see  how  David  could 
do  without  me.  And  my  boys,  and  you.  But  now, 
I  can  leave  you  all  to  the  Lord." 

"Oh,  my  precious  little  mother,  whatever  you  do, 
don't  talk  so.  Please  don't.  Make  an  effort  to  get 
well.  We  just  can't  spare  you.  I  shall  pray,  and 
pray,  and  pray,  that  God  will  let  you  stay  with  us. 
What  would  this  manse  be  with  you  gone  out  of  it?" 

All  this  in  earnest,  pleading  accents,  poured  out 


BACK  ro  rHE  MANSE      241 

in  passionate  haste.  Mrs.  Ward  smiled.  She  had 
passed  into  a  realm  too  tranquil  for  love,  itself,  to 
disturb  her. 

"Pray,  Janet,"  she  said,  "that  the  Lord's  will  may 
be  done.  I  can't  tell  you  how  I  know  it,  darling,  but 
I  do  know  that,  before  long,  He  will  send  His  mes 
senger  for  me,  and  I  want  you  to  be  very  sure  that 
that  very  day  will  be,  to  me,  as  happy  and  as  wel 
come  as  the  day  that  I  married  my  husband,  as  the 
day  that  I  first  kissed  your  little  face,  when  you  were 
my  baby.  Janet,  I  can't  explain  it,  but  heaven  has 
come  so  near  me  that  I  see  with  clear  eyes.  It's  only 
a  little  while  for  any  of  us,  and  I  want  you  to  be  glad 
with  me.  We  must  not  have  a  single  sad  moment 
in  this  house,  because  Jesus  wants  me  to  go  home 
first."  And  this  attitude  she  maintained. 


•XIX 

HOME  WITHOUT  A  MOTHER 

SUMMER  drifted  into  autumn,  the  trees  put  on 
their  gorgeous  colors,  and  the  forests  were 
beautiful  in  the  opaline  haze  of  morning  and 
golden  glory  of  evening.  Janet  kept  her  mother  out 
of  doors  as  much  of  the  time  as  she  could.  With 
cushions  piled  in  the  hammock  or  pillows  in  the  easy 
chair  and  a  hassock  for  her  feet,  Mrs.  Ward  spent 
long  hours  dreaming  or  drowsing  when  she  was  too 
weary  to  talk  or  read.  Her  husband  or  daughter 
took  her  for  drives,  as  she  was  able  to  bear  them, 
and  sometimes  she  seemed  for  a  little  while  so  much 
stronger  that  their  hopes  revived.  But  these  flickers 
of  the  vital  flame  meant  little,  and  were  usually  suc 
ceeded  by  low  spells  when  she  was  so  faint  and 
spent  that  they  feared  to  see  her  fade  away  before 
their  eyes.  Life  was  just  then  not  easy. 

One  day  when  Janet  was  battling  very  hard  for 
cheerfulness,  so  hard  to  maintain  when  little  by  little 
but  very  surely  indeed  she  discerned  the  advance  of 
that  angel  whose  presence  on  an  earthly  threshold 
means  grief  and  tears,  she  heard  a  footstep  behind  her, 
and  a  hand  with  a  grasp  she  knew,  clasped  hers 
in  a  strong  pressure. 

"  Why,  Theodore!  "  she  exclaimed.  The  joy  that 
lit  her  face  at  the  surprise  of  his  coming  was  an  in 
voluntary  witness  of  her  feeling  towards  him.  That 

242 


WITHOUT  A  MOTHER      243 

joy  ran  up  its  flag  of  pleasure  in  a  flush  upon  her 
cheeks,  and  a  dancing  light  in  her  eyes. 

''Yes,  dear,"  he  said.  "You  must  pardon  my 
unceremonious  visit,  but  I  arranged  to  come  so  un 
expectedly  that  there  was  no  time  for  a  letter,  and  I 
would  not  telegraph.  I  came  that  I  might  see 
your  father  and  your  mother,  as  well  as  yourself, 
Janet.  I  have  important  business  with  both." 

Janet  led  the  way  into  the  manse.  When  she  saw 
how  pleased  her  mother  was  at  the  visitor's  entrance, 
she  was  self-reproached.  Purposely  she  had  scarcely 
mentioned  his  name,  and  his  letters  which  came  to 
her  regularly  had  been  irregularly  and  briefly  an 
swered.  It  dawned  upon  her  that  Theodore  was  a 
very  steadfast  and  patient  lover,  and  as  he  sat  talking 
with  her  mother,  so  gentle,  so  tender,  so  thoughtful, 
and  she  watched  his  face,  she  saw  in  it  new  lines  of 
resolve,  of  strength. 

.  "I  will  never  surrender  my  own,"  was  what  she 
read  in  that  countenance,  and  its  quiet  steadfastness 
needed  no  interpretation  beyond  itself. 

When  she  left  the  room  for  awhile  to  see  about 
her  household  tasks,  Theodore  said  a  word  to  Mrs. 
Ward  of  his  love  for  Janet.  She  put  out  her  shadowy 
hand,  so  thin,  so  hot,  and  laid  it  on  his  cool  palm. 

" I  am  happy  to  give  her  to  you,"  she  said.  "But 
when  I  am  gone,  she  must  stay  awhile  with  her 
father,  for  he  will  need  her.  This  will  be  a  desolate 
house  for  him,  and  he  cannot  endure  it  in  solitude." 

"Dear  Mrs.  Ward,  I  will  not  hurry  her,  nor  shall 
Mr.  Ward  be  left  alone  if  I  can  help  it;  I  can  wait  if 
necessary  and  serve,  as  long  as  Jacob  waited  and 
served  for  Rachel." 


244  JANE?  WARD 

"  You  will  not  need  to  wait  so  long,"  she  answered 
with  a  wan  smile.  "  But  Theodore,  tell  me,  has 
Janet  said  yes  to  you?  It  seems  strange  that  she 
would  do  that  and  not  confide  in  her  father  and 
mother." 

Then  Theodore  told  her  of  his  courtship,  and  of 
Janet's  acceptance  and  refusal,  and  her  mother 
listened  with  comprehension.  She  knew  Janet. 
"You  must  carry  her  by  storm,"  she  said.  "Do  not 
let  her  think  for  a  moment  that  you  will  be  satisfied 
with  a  no.  Dear  child,  she  has  had  nothing,  nothing, 
to  do  with  my  illness.  One  cannot  live  forever! " 

Then,  David  Ward  came  riding  up,  and  was  as 
hearty  in  his  welcome  as  Theodore  could  wish.  The 
restrained  pain  in  his  face  was  evident,  but  it  was 
bravely  held  in  check,  for  he  would  not  grieve  the 
dear  one  who  was  just  now  uppermost  in  his  every 
thought.  He  brought  her  a  bunch  of  cardinal 
flowers,  and  told  her  where  they  grew,  he  rearranged 
her  cushions,  and  when  she  was  tired,  he  lifted  her 
in  his  strong  arms  and  carried  her  as  if  she  had  been 
a  child  to  her  bed.  In  truth  she  was  now  a  very 
light  weight. 

The  boys  were  all  at  home.  Nobody  ventured 
very  far  away.  There  was  an  unspoken  but  imperious 
necessity  for  them  to  keep  together  for  the  time. 
Though  the  boys  were  not  pressing  on  fast  with  their 
studies,  they  were  not  idle.  The  cutting  of  the 
railway  through  their  district  had  brought  commerce 
nearer,  and  there  was  work  enough  and  to  spare  for 
all  who  were  not  idly  inclined.  None  of  Mr. 
Ward's  children  were  lazy  or  slothful.  The  paternal 
energy  and  force  repeated  itself  in  each  of  the  family. 


WITHOUT:  A  MOTHER    245 

And  the  mother's  prayers  made  in  faith  many  years 
ago  were  to  be  answered  in  days  to  come,  for  two  of 
her  sons,  Ralph  and  Dave  had  dedicated  themselves, 
one  to  the  work  of  the  student  volunteers,  another  to 
home  missions. 

"I  shall  know  all  about  you  both,"  she  said  to 
them.  "  Though  you  cannot  see  me,  I  am  persuaded 
that  I  shall  see  you,  and  I  hope  if  any  one  is  going  to 
heaven  after  I  get  there,  you  will  be  sure  to  send  me 
a  message." 

In  all  the  years  that  followed,  Janet  and  her 
brothers  remembered  this  request.  Again  and  again, 
when  some  dear  saint  was  passing  hence,  they  said, 

"When  you  meet  mother,  tell  her  this,  tell  her 
that."  And  why  not  ?  Though  on  our  side,  the 
veil  is  too  thick  for  our  dim  eyes  to  pierce  it,  though 
we  hear  no  sound  with  our  deaf  ears,  so  filled  with 
the  noises  of  earth,  why  should  not  they,  who  are 
freed  from  the  limitations  of  the  flesh,  have  vision 
and  hearing  which  we  have  not  ?  As  one  said  in  the 
hush  of  a  great  sorrow  and  the  loneliness  of  a  great 
parting,  "She  is  in  heaven  and  Christ  leads  her  by 
the  hand,  and  I  am  on  earth,  and  Christ  leads  me  by 
the  hand,  so  there's  only  Christ  between  us." 

Christ  the  pitiful,  Christ  the  consoler,  Christ  the 
nearest  and  dearest  friend.  If  there  were  anything 
the  one  at  home  with  Him  could  want  it  would  be 
surely  granted,  and  what  could  give  more  bliss  than 
some  service  for  the  loved  ones  left  below  ? 

Mrs.  Ward's  interest  in  every  one  about  her  did  not 
abate,  and  it  extended  to  all  her  daughter's  friends. 
To  Barbara,  Nancy,  Elizabeth,  and  Miss  Prescott,  she 
sent  messages,  delighting  in  their  letters,  and  on  their 


246  JANET  WARD 

part,  there  were  few  days  when  letters  or  flowers  or 
some  sweet  token  of  love  did  not  reach  her  from 
them.  When  Nancy  had  her  great  news  to  tell,  the 
news  that  she  had  found  a  sister,  it  was  to  Mrs. 
Ward  she  wrote,  pouring  out  her  whole  heart  in  a 
letter  that  was  like  a  song  of  triumph.  When  Bar 
bara's  baby  came,  the  good  news  was  sent  at  once 
to  Mrs.  Ward.  Elizabeth  never  let  a  day  pass  with 
out  sending  her  a  message,  and  Miss  Prescott  took  a 
whole  week  out  of  her  busy  life  that  she  might  spend 
a  half  day  with  Janet's  mother. 

Mr.  Fuller  lingered  on  for  several  weeks.  He  was 
now  taking  the  vacation  that  he  found  he  needed, 
and,  as  he  had  old  friends  and  kindred  not  far  away, 
he  could  see  Janet  daily.  His  errand  to  Mr.  Ward, 
he  did  not  then  reveal  to  Janet,  but  besides  formally 
asking  her  father's  permission  to  marry  Janet,  he  told 
him  of  the  persuasion  of  many  friends  that  the  time 
had  arrived  when  Mr.  Ward  could  serve  the  cause  of 
home  missions  better  in  New  York,  than  at  his 
mountain  post. 

"The  whole  field  needs  you,  not  a  portion,"  he 
said,  "and  there  is  a  secretaryship  waiting  for  you  to 
fill." 

Mr.  Ward  put  the  matter  aside,  and  Theodore  al 
most  felt  that  his  mention  of  it  was  premature,  yet  he 
had  promised  to  convey  the  desire  of  some  who  had 
the  Lord's  cause  much  at  heart. 

When  the  end  came,  it  was  so  softly  and  quietly 
that  the  mother  slipped  away,  that  those  around  her 
scarcely  knew  that  she  had  gone.  Amid  the  first 
awed  silence,  a  maid,  whose  singing  had  been  a 
solace  to  Mrs.  Ward,  began  in  low,  tender  tones, 


WIT HOUr  A  MOTHER      247 

"  God  be  with  you  till  we  meet  again,"  and  the  fam 
ily,  heart-broken  as  they  were,  joined  in  the  chorus, 
"  Till  we  meet,  till  we  meet  at  Jesus'  feet." 
They  laid  their  precious  one  to  rest  in  the  little 
cemetery  in  the  mountains,  under  a  great  oak.  It 
was  a  peaceful  bed  in  which  to  await  the  resurrec 
tion  of  the  just.  Before  they  left  the  grave,  a  choir 
of  young  people  who  had  sung  "  Beyond  the  smiling 
and  the  weeping,"  and  "Nearer  my  God  to  Thee" 
during  the  services  in  the  little  church  sang  a  hymn 
that  Mrs.  Ward  had  loved. 

"  The  Homeland  !  O  the  Homeland  ! 

The  land  of  souls  free-born  ! 
No  gloomy  night  is  known  there, 

But  aye  the  fadeless  morn : 
I'm  sighing  for  that  Country, 

My  heart  is  aching  here; 
There  is  no  pain  in  the  Homeland 

To  which  I'm  drawing  near. 

"  My  Lord  is  in  the  Homeland, 

With  angels  bright  and  fair ; 
No  sinful  thing  nor  evil, 

Can  ever  enter  there ; 
The  music  of  the  ransomed 

Is  ringing  in  my  ears, 
And  when  I  think  of  the  Homeland, 

My  eyes  are  wet  with  tears. 

"  For  loved  ones  in  the  Homeland 

Are  waiting  me  to  come 
Where  neither  death  nor  sorrow 

Invade  their  holy  home : 
O  dear,  dear  native  Country  1 

O  rest  and  peace  above  ! 
Christ  bring  us  all  to  the  Homeland 

Of  His  eternal  love." 


248  JANET  WARD 

The  very  loveliest  word  that  was  said  about  her 
was  said  by  a  little  child  who  saw  her  as  she  lay 
covered  by  white  roses,  before  the  casket  was  closed. 

"I  shall  never  be  afraid  to  die.  1  have  seen  Mrs. 
Ward.  It  is  only  falling  fast  asleep." 

The  winter  settled  down,  long,  cold  and  silent. 
Three  of  the  boys  went  away.  Janet,  her  father  and 
two  of  the  lads  were  at  home.  Strangely  desolate, 
the  manse  was  yet  not  doleful,  for  the  light  of  God 
was  in  it.  Mr.  Ward  was  as  ever  busy,  busier  than 
ever  indeed,  for  he  had  decided  that  the  time  had 
come  when  it  would  be  right  for  him  to  leave  his 
charge  for  other  work,  and  he  visited  every  home, 
talked  with  every  inquirer,  wrought  with  every  im 
penitent  man  for  miles,  while  when  the  communion 
seasons  came,  he  gathered  many  into  the  church. 
Janet  seconded  his  efforts.  She  assembled  the  moth 
ers  and  daughters  as  her  mother  used  to  in  pleasant 
social  meetings.  She  taught  the  children  in  their 
Junior  Endeavor  and  Mission  Bands,  and  from  time 
to  time  she  wrote,  working  hard  on  a  second  book. 
Her  first  was  bringing  her  wide  recognition  and 
some  money,  and  the  girls  at  the  colony  were  proud 
that  she  had  been  one  of  them  when  it  was  sent 
forth  to  the  publishers. 

"My  little  Janet  is  bidding  fair  to  be  a  distinguished 
woman,"  said  her  father,  patting  her  head  as  if  she 
had  been  a  child  still.  "  I  wish  your  mother  could 
have  read  this  criticism." 

"  Mother  knows,"  said  Janet  with  a  smile.  "  I  am 
just  as  certain  mother  knows  all  that  it  is  sweet  for 
her  to  know,  as  that  you  and  I  are  here  together, 
dearest  daddy." 


WITHOUT  A  MOTHER      249 

They  began,  towards  the  spring,  to  make  ready 
for  their  flitting  North.  There  were  books  to  pack 
in  many  little  boxes.  Books  are  so  heavy  that  when 
they  are  transported  they  cannot  go  in  large  and 
bulky  packages.  The  china,  which  Mrs.  Ward  had 
always  so  greatly  prized,  some  of  it  an  inheritance 
from  her  mother  and  her  grandmother,  was  sacred  in 
Janet's  eyes.  No  piece  had  ever  been  nicked,  cracked 
or  broken,  and  no  hired  hands  had  ever  touched  it. 
The  ladies  of  the  family  through  generations  had 
taken  care  of  these  egg-shell  cups  and  saucers,  had 
themselves  washed  it  when  in  use,  and  cared  for  it 
with  dainty  and  delicate  handling.  Janet  herself 
packed  it,  and  it  was  the  task  of  days. 

Spring  returned.  As  the  wrens  again  built  in  the 
eaves,  and  the  grass  grew  green,  the  Wards  set  their 
faces  northward.  Dr.  Huntoon,  old  man  as  he 
was,  wept  when  he  said  good-bye  to  his  friend. 
The  countryside  was  stirred  with  grief.  The  silent, 
reserved  mountaineers  wrung  Mr.  Ward's  hand,  and 
the  women  clung  to  Janet  and  kissed  her.  The  one 
comfort  they  had  was  that  Mr.  Ward's  son  would 
soon  come  to  them,  to  carry  on  his  father's  work. 

In  the  last  of  April,  father  and  daughter  were  in 
New  York  established  in  a  little  home. 


XX 
FAME  NOT  ENOUGH 

THE  youthful  writer  fondly  fancies  that  fame 
will  complete  his  or  her  every  unsatisfied 
wish.  When  Janet  went  to  commencement 
at  Lucas  College  the  summer  after  her  second  book 
was  published,  and  the  President  asked  her  to  re 
ceive  at  her  side,  while  everybody  treated  her  as 
though  her  success  had  conferred  honor  upon  her 
Alma  Mater,  when  undergraduates  treated  her  with 
flattering  respect  and  the  alumnae  rose  at  their  annual 
breakfast  in  token  of  their  pride  in  the  work  of  one 
of  their  number,  Janet  tasted  the  sweets  of  fame. 
But  she  was  not  puffed  up.  Her  father  thought  he 
had  never  seen  her  more  humble,  and  she  explained 
it  to  him  in  a  nutshell. 

"  I  am  so  far  from  reaching  my  ideal,  dad,  and  I  am 
so  conscious  of  my  shortcomings  that  I  am  simply 
ashamed.  But  the  dear  people  are  very,  very  kind." 
They  went  on  a  round  of  visits  that  year  before 
Mr.  Ward  began  his  work  at  the  Board  rooms,  a 
work  which  would  necessitate  long  and  frequent  ab 
sences  from  home,  and  a  great  deal  of  correspond 
ence.  Wherever  they  went,  father  and  daughter  at 
tracted  notice  from  those  they  met,  and  as  always 
Mr.  Ward's  soldierly  figure,  keen,  clear  cut  face  and 
magnetic  manner  drew  the  crowd  to  him.  Janet 
had  grown  beautiful  with  the  years.  Her  first  girlish 

250 


FAME  NOT  ENOUGH       251 

slimness  had  rounded  out  to  fuller  curves.  She  car 
ried  herself  finely.  There  was  about  her  the  unmis 
takable  air  of  breeding,  the  manner  of  a  gentle 
woman  which  sets  people  at  their  ease,  and  makes 
them  appear  at  their  best.  Mr.  Ward  saw  in  her 
much  of  her  mother's  charm,  and  his  devotion  to  her 
was  so  marked  that  more  than  one  plain-spoken  old 
auntie  warned  him  against  idolatry.  The  old  aunties 
were  fond  of  staying  with  Janet  in  the  new  home 
she  had  made  for  her  father  in  New  York,  and  she 
put  herself  out  to  be  nice  to  them,  taking  them  to 
concerts  and  luncheons  and  lectures,  and  seeing  that 
they  were  never  left  out  of  any  pleasure  which  they 
could  enjoy.  When  her  father  had  borne  with  com 
mendable  resignation  a  number  of  warnings  from 
Aunt  Jessamy  on  the  theme  of  his  pride  in  Janet,  he 
suddenly  turned  on  her  one  day. 

"I  am  not  sure  that  you  and  Aunt  Katherine  are 
not  worse  than  I  in  spoiling  and  petting  our  lassie, 
but,  dear  ladies,  I  want  you  to  know  that  I  don't  be 
lieve  love  ever  spoils  anybody.  So  far  as  I  read  my 
Bible,  we  are  told  to  love  one  another,  for  love  is  of 
God.  Love  is  sunshine,  love  is  the  south  wind,  love 
is  blessedness.  I'll  tell  you,  Aunt  Jessamy,  what  it  is 
that  ruins  people's  dispositions  and  wounds  and 
hurts  them;  it  is  hate  and  malice  and  envy  and  un- 
charitableness.  When  there  is  bickering  in  a  home, 
when  a  young  woman  is  misunderstood,  and  found 
fault  with,  when  she  is  unduly  prevented  from  living 
out  her  life  as  she  feels  she  ought,  then  she  is  spoiled. 
A  hundred  boys  and  girls  are  ruined  by  scolding  and 
crossness,  for  one  who  is  injured  by  too  much  lov 
ing."  God  help  those  who  are  not  loved." 


252          JANET:  WARD 

"Well,  David,"  said  the  old  lady  smiling  at  him 
tolerantly,  "you  always  did  have  your  own  opin 
ions,  and  your  whole  brood  are  turning  out  well. 
Now,  just  for  curiosity,  tell  me,  were  you  just  as  in 
dulgent  when  your  children  were  little?  Did  you 
never  punish  the  boys  ?  " 

"There  was  never  a  rod  in  the  manse,  Aunt  Jes- 
samy,  if  that  is  what  you  mean.  I  thank  God  that, 
impulsive  as  I  am,  I  was  never  so  left  to  myself  as  to 
correct  a  child  in  anger,  and  no  child  of  mine  was 
ever  struck.  I  was  unjustly  beaten  myself  by  a 
harsh  schoolmaster,  once,  and  the  resentment  I  felt 
was  so  bitter,  that  boy  as  I  was,  I  could  have  killed 
the  man.  I  decided  that  no  child  of  mine  should  be 
whipped  in  school  or  at  home,  and  my  dear  wife 
agreed  with  me.  But  I  would  not  like  to  say  that 
the  children  were  never  disciplined  in  other  ways." 

Janet  had  entered  the  room  and  had  heard  a  part  of 
this  conversation. 

"  Daddy,"  she  said,  "  you  punished  me  once  when 
I  was  a  little  thing,  and  it  hurt  as  much  as  a  whip 
ping,  and  made  a  longer  impression." 

"You  must  be  mistaken,  my  dear.  Stuart,  or 
Hugh,  or  Ralph,  perhaps  might  say  that,  but  not 
you.  As  I  remember  it,  you  were  always  the  best 
of  children." 

"Nevertheless,  I  had  my  naughty  fits,  and  went 
into  tantrums.  I  can  remember  them  now.  I  was 
determined  not  to  speak  to  an  old  lady  in  the  church 
at  Springdale.  For  some  reason  I  had  conceived  a 
violent  aversion  to  her;  her  bonnet  and  veil  I  can  see 
yet,  and  I  shouldn't  now  like  anybody  with  that 
sort  of  bonnet.  One  day  she  came  to  the  manse,  and 


FAME  NOT  ENOUGH       253 

against  my  will,  she  kissed  me.  I  stamped  my  foot 
and  called  her  names,  and  wet  my  handkerchief  to 
rub  off  the  place  she  had  kissed.  Mother  sent  me 
out  of  the  room,  excused  me  as  best  she  could  to  the 
old  dame  who  was  naturally  very  much  offended,  and 
then  came  up-stairs  to  talk  to  me.  As  I  was  determined 
not  to  be  good,  mother  began  to  undress  me  to  put 
me  to  bed,  which  was  her  usual  method  of  punish 
ment.  I  screamed  and  fought,  and  finally  slapped 
my  mother,  and  in  the  very  midst  of  the  battle,  you 
walked  in." 

"Well,  in  my  day,"  said  Aunt  Jessamy,  "you 
would  have  been  whipped  as  well  as  sent  to  bed.  I 
think  a  whipping  would  have  done  you  good. 
Though  I  don't  think  you  were  originally  without 
provocation." 

"I  recall  nothing  of  this  scene,"  said  Mr.  Ward. 
"Janet  must  be  mistaken." 

"Indeed  I  am  not.  You  looked  very  stern  and 
very  sorrowful.  You  bade  dear  mother  sit  down 
and  you  undressed  me  and  put  me  in  bed,  where  I 
stayed  the  rest  of  the  day.  And  you  said,  '  Janet,  for 
one  week,  I  shall  not  kiss  you  for  good-night  or 
good-morning.'  You  did  not,  and  I  was  broken 
hearted.  By  the  time  you  restored  me  to  the  place 
where  you  would  kiss  me,  I  was  ready  to  behave 
well  to  the  whole  congregation." 

"  I  had  no  idea  I  had  ever  been  so  severe.  Parents 
forget  as  they  grow  older,  what  they  did  and  felt 
when  they  were  young.  And  the  elder  children 
come  in  for  the  severest  discipline." 

"Well,  daddy  dear,  you  were  right  and  just,  and 
I've  always  thought  so.  Had  a  vehement,  headstrong 


254  JANEr  WARD 

child  such  as  I  was,  have  gone  on  always  unchecked, 
there  would  have  been  no  living  with  her.  How 
ever  you  and  mother  managed  it,  we  manse  chil 
dren  learned  self-government  and  we  acquired  it 
early.  I,  for  one,  have  never  regretted  it." 

"The  aunties  think  I  spoil  you  now." 

"So  you  do,  dear  daddy,  and  so  does  everybody. 
It  is  a  great  responsibility  to  have  the  whole  of  one's 
world  so  very  kind  to  one." 

Janet  was  much  in  demand  at  present.  She  and 
Nancy  divided  between  them,  the  pleasures  of  guests 
of  honor  at  clubs  and  receptions,  and  both  had  more 
invitations  then  they  could  accept.  Nancy's  water- 
colors  were  praised  as  highly  as  Janet's  books,  and 
both  had  every  hour  full.  But  Janet  found  time  to 
go  often  to  the  settlement,  where  she  kept  the  girls 
very  lovingly  in  touch  with  her,  teaching  their  classes 
in  literature  and  leading  their  meetings.  She  was 
beginning  to  look  very  pale  and  worn  with  her  con 
stant  engagements,  and  was  for  the  first  time  in  her 
life,  unreasonable  and  cross,  so  that  her  father  was 
puzzled  and  disturbed,  and  the  aunties,  concluding 
that  she  had  too  much  to  do  and  required  rest,  be 
took  themselves  to  a  visit  in  another  direction. 

She  was  reading  proof  one  morning  when  Theo 
dore  Fuller  walked  in,  and  took  the  work  into  his 
own  hands.  He  gently  lifted  the  printed  sheets  from 
her  desk,  and  carried  them  to  a  distant  window. 

"I'll  finish  this  task,"  he  said.  Then  with  very 
autocratic  decision,  but  still  gently  he  led  Janet  across 
the  room  and  seated  her  in  a  big  easy  chair,  with  her 
back  to  the  light. 

"Now,  my  little  lady,"  he  said,  "sit  very  still  in- 


FAME  NOT  ENOUGH       255 

deed,  where  I  have  put  you,  until  I  tell  you  that  you 
may  stir.  I  am  as  good  a  proof-reader  as  you  are." 

In  a  few  minutes  he  returned,  announced  the  work 
done,  and  took  a  seat  beside  her. 

"Janet,"  he  said  gravely,  "when  is  this  probation 
of  mine  to  end  ?  When  will  you  marry  me  ?  I  want 
you  to  name  the  day." 

"Not  this  minute." 

"This  very  minute." 

"But  why  such  haste?" 

"We  have  not  been  in  haste.  I  have  waited  with 
most  exemplary  fortitude,  but  I  can  wait  no  longer. 
Your  father  will  be  at  home  on  Saturday.  Shall  we 
be  married  on  Monday  ?  " 

Janet  sat  up  in  her  chair  and  laughed  merrily. 

"  You  foolish  boy.     I  have  nothing  ready." 

"Clothes  do  not  matter.  You  always  look  as  you 
ought.  Janet,  shall  we  be  married  on  Monday  ?" 

"No,  my  dear,  Monday  is  not  a  good  day." 

"  Tuesday?" 

"No,  not  Tuesday." 

"Well,  name  your  own  day  then.  For,  I  warn  you, 
Janet,  1  have  arrived  at  the  end  of  my  tether.  You 
and  I  have  been  plighted  lovers  quite  long  enough. 
Now  I  need  my  wife.  She  must  put  me  off  no  longer." 

Eventually  they  settled  upon  Wednesday,  a  month 
distant,  and  Janet's  birthday.  Whereupon  Janet  tele 
graphed  in  imperative  haste  to  the  aunties  to  come 
back,  for  she  needed  their  aid  about  her  trousseau, 
and  sending  for  Nancy  told  her  that  she  might  get 
ready  for  the  wedding. 

"You  will  be  my  bridesmaid,  of  course." 

Then  ensued  a  talk  about  the  wedding,  what  the 


256          JANET:  WARD 

bride  should  wear,  and  whether  it  should  be  at  home 
or  in  church.  These  details  are  of  fresh  interest  to 
every  bride.  Nancy  pleaded  for  a  church  wedding, 
but  Janet  rather  inclined  to  one  at  home. 

"  What  does  Theodore  wish  ?  "  asked  Nancy. 

"  Oh,  we  have  not  discussed  that  point.  Naturally 
he  will  leave  every  arrangement  to  me.  I  think  that 
only  fair." 

Nancy  went  home  and  wrote  a  letter. 

The  next  day  but  one,  the  letter  was  answered, 
not  to  her,  but  to  Janet.  And  this  was  what  Eliza 
beth  Evans  had  to  say.  Elizabeth  had  been  for  some 
time  Tom  Evans'  wife. 

"My  dearest  Janet, — Tom  and  I  have  been  talking 
things  over,  since  Nancy's  letter  came.  Of  course 
you  are  writing  to  me  yourself  but  I'll  not  wait  for 
you.  Your  wedding  must  be  from  Dene's  Mills,  the 
place  where  you  and  Nancy  and  I  began  our  friend 
ship,  and  the  place  for  your  new  life  to  begin.  Fa 
ther  and  mother  feel  about  it  just  as  I  do.  Here  is 
the  big  house  with  plenty  of  room.  Here  is  the 
little  church  that  will  make  so  beautiful  a  setting  for 
the  bridal  party.  Here  are  Tom  and  I  to  entertain 
you.  Father  too  wants  Mr.  Ward  to  hobnob  with 
him  for  a  few  days  and  get  used  to  the  thought  of 
you  as  a  married  lady.  You  can  come  here  with 
your  father,  the  week  before  the  wedding  day,  you 
two  and  the  aunties;  and  Mr.  Fuller  may  arrive  on  the 
wedding  morning  with  his  best  man.  The  last  details 
may  wait  till  you  are  here,  but  Janet,  only  say  yes  to 
my  plan,  and  I'll  engage  that  all  the  people  you  want 
and  cannot  do  without  shall  be  here  to  see  you 
married."  There  was  much  sweet  urgency. 


FAME  NOT  ENOUGH       257 

Elizabeth's  proposal  was  accepted.  It  was  at 
Dene's  Mills  that  Janet  and  Theodore  were  married. 
The  bride  was  in  white,  she  wore  a  point  lace  veil 
that  her  grandmother  and  her  mother  before  her  had 
worn.  Her  father  performed  the  ceremony,  and  she 
went  away  with  her  husband  to  spend  the  honey 
moon  in  Tennessee. 

The  evening  before  the  wedding  Janet  spent  in  the 
room  which  had  always  been  hers  when  she  visited 
Elizabeth.  No  alterations  had  been  made  in  it  since 
first  a  little  wayfaring  girl,  just  leaving  home,  she 
had  been  its  occupant.  She  thought  of  the  many 
pleasant  things,  of  the  few  sorrowful  experiences 
she  had  seen  and  known  since  she  had  knelt  beside 
that  bed  on  the  evening,  when  she  had  slept  away 
almost  for  the  first  time,  from  her  father's  house. 
Streaming  over  the  floor,  the  white  light  of  the  moon 
fell  upon  the  very  spot  where  then  she  had  said  her 
prayers.  She  knelt  to  say  them  again.  It  seemed  to 
her  that  she  was  not  alone.  Into  her  heart  there 
crept  a  warm  sweet  sense  of  companionship,  "I 
thank  Thee,  oh,  my  Saviour,"  she  whispered,  "that 
my  mother  is  with  Thee,  and  that  she  is  with  me  too." 


XXI 
THEODORE  AND  I 

EVER,  were  two  people  so  all  in  all  to 
each  other,"  said  Belle  Nelson  some  time 
later,  as,  sitting  in  the  middle  of  a  group 
at  the  girl  colony,  she  talked  to  them  about  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Fuller,  to  whom  she  had  been  paying  a  visit. 
Mrs.  Nelson  was  en  route  to  her  home  and  her  chil 
dren  after  her  trip  abroad.  She  was  in  splendid 
health,  and  very  happy.  Her  widow's  dress  was 
laid  aside,  and  she  was  ready  to  undertake  whatever 
offered  itself  to  her  hand.  Stopping  over  a  little 
while,  she  had  seen  several  of  her  friends,  and  had 
dined  with  Janet. 

"Everything  is  'Theodore  and  1'  with  Janet,"  she 
said,  "and  it  is  edifying  to  notice  how  she  defers  to 
him,  while  it  is  beautiful  to  watch  his  adoration  of 
her.  There  is  in  the  wide  world  nothing  so  eternally 
fit  and  proper  as  the  coronation  of  a  girl's  career,  in 
a  happy  marriage.  I  am  sure  Janet  will  proceed  to 
do  her  best  work  from  this  time  on." 

Belle  had  not  been  happily  married,  but  her  unfor 
tunate  experience  had  not  embittered  her.  She  was 
as  sweet  of  nature,  as  sanguine,  and  as  cheery  for 
others  as  if  she  herself  had  known  no  baptism  of 
fire.  It  had  purified  not  wasted  her. 

"I  challenge  your  opinion,"  said  one  of  the  ladies, 
"that  Janet  will  do  her  best  work  hereafter.  She 
258 


THEODORE  AND  I         259 

will,  I  fancy,  lose  much  of  her  individuality,  become 
a  mere  shadow  of  that  husband  of  hers,  and  devote 
herself  to  the  parish  work  and  to  domesticity.  That 
may  be  a  gain  and  not  a  loss  to  her  as  an  individual,  but 
we  need  not  expect  any  more  books  from  her  pen, 
nor  any  more  contributions  of  herself  to  benevolence. 
Theodore  will,  after  the  manner  of  men,  absorb  her 
entirely.  I  wish  I  could  see  it  differently." 

"I  can  see,  Miss  Ogden,"  replied  Belle,  "  that  you 
belong  to  that  wing  of  the  sex  which  is  indifferent 
to  marriage.  In  your  particular  case  I  assume  that  the 
right  man  has  not  loomed  up  on  the  horizon.  Janet 
is  not  the  sort  of  woman  to  lose  her  individuality  in 
marriage,  but  I  think  she  will  gain  a  new  charm  and 
new  power  from  her  close  friendship  with  a  strong, 
broad-minded,  many-sided  man." 

"  Close  friendship,  what  can  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Can  there  be  any  friendship  so  intimate  as  that 
of  marriage  ?  The  two  who  have  given  themselves 
to  one  another  are  comrades  on  the  road.  Each  has 
something  to  give  that  the  other  needs.  Each  supple 
ments  the  other  wherever  there  is  a  lack.  Under 
Theodore's  inspiration,  I  am  ready  to  believe  that 
Janet  will  write  a  far  better  book  than  she  has  yet 
given  us,  and  I  am  sure  that  his  sermons  will  here 
after  be  a  great  deal  more  to  the  point,  more  incisive, 
and  more  sympathetic,  because  his  wife  will  be  his 
critic  and  will  stimulate  him  to  do  his  best." 

"  Time  will  tell,"  said  Miss  Ogden,  doubtfully. 

"Time  will  tell,"  repeated  Mrs.  Nelson,  confidently. 

Time  did  tell.  As  the  Fullers  went  on  their  way, 
the  daughter  of  the  manse  proved  herself  a  model 
minister's  wife.  She  was  beloved  by  her  husband's 


26o          JANET:  WARD 

people  and  to  her  was  due  a  large  share  of  the  influ 
ence  and  the  success  to  which  he  attained.  She  con 
ciliated  those  who  were  sensitive  because  they  felt 
overlooked,  she  was  the  leader  of  the  women,  she 
made  her  home  a  resort  for  the  young  people,  she 
opened  its  hospitable  doors  to  those  who  were 
boarding,  or  were  away  from  homes  of  their  own. 
Judicially  and  theoretically  speaking  a  church  has  no 
valid  claim  on  the  wife  of  its  pastor,  yet  in  the 
rivalries  and  competitions  which  do  unfortunately 
invade  the  field  of  the  church,  the  wife  is  the  pastor's 
aide-de-camp,  and  has  much  to  do  in  making  or 
marring  his  position.  An  unpopular  wife  may  neu 
tralize  her  husband's  efforts,  and  leave  his  parish  like 
a  desert  instead  of  a  garden.  A  man  of  moderate 
equipment,  intellectually  and  socially  of  a  reserved 
and  timid  habit,  which  handicaps  him  so  that  neither 
as  preacher  nor  as  pastor  does  he  shine,  may  surpass 
his  contemporaries  in  the  race,  simply  because  of  the 
favor  which  his  amiable  or  talented  wife  receives 
wherever  they  go. 

Janet  and  Theodore  were  well  mated.  They  liked 
the  same  things,  they  assisted  one  another,  they 
walked  hand  in  hand.  Though  two  or  three  years 
passed  in  which  Janet  wrote  no  book,  that  was  not 
because  of  Theodore,  but  was  wholly  due  to  the 
twins.  Janet's  son  and  daughter  came  together,  and 
for  a  good  while  in  their  little  lives,  they  absorbed  all 
their  mother's  time  and  thought,  and  were  more 
worth  while  in  her  opinion  than  any  other  enterprise 
which  could  stimulate  her  ambition. 

They  were  three  years  old,  when  one  day,  out  of  a 
clear  sky,  came  a  thunderbolt  of  sorrow  that  was 


THEODORE  AND  I         261 

almost  more  than  Janet  could  bear.  Mr.  Ward  had 
been  evidently  growing  in  the  depth  of  his  piety,  he 
was  more  spiritual,  more  Christlike,  more  lovable  than 
ever.  None  of  his  wonderful  youthfulness  of  nature 
was  gone;  he  was  like  a  child  still,  impetuous,  and 
impulsive,  and  yet  in  daily  duty  strenuous  and  inde 
fatigable.  His  health  was  unbroken,  and  with  the 
years  and  whitened  hair  he  grew  only  more  distin 
guished.  One  did  not  think  of  age  when  David 
Ward  stood  in  the  pulpit;  one  thought  only  of  a  lion- 
like  man  who  had  the  heart  of  a  lamb.  He  travelled 
long  distances,  and  told  what  he  had  seen  in  words 
so  compelling  in  their  force,  that  men  were  eager  to 
give  money  that  the  good  work  might  be  carried  on. 

Mr.  Ward  found  Janet's  home  so  much  his  own 
that  he  was  often  there.  The  children  were  his  de 
light.  They  idolized  their  grandfather.  Janet  some 
times  planned  a  surprise  for  him,  as  when  one  au 
tumn  she  invited  her  brothers  to  come  to  her  and  stay 
over  a  Thanksgiving  that  they  and  their  father  might 
be  together.  Every  incident  of  the  visit  was  charm 
ing.  The  whole  family  were  as  happy  as  they  had 
ever  been  together.  Janet  had  more  than  once  while 
the  joyous  day  passed  that  immanent  sense  of  her 
mother's  nearness  which  completed  and  ensphered 
the  day. 

Evening  came,  and  they  had  family  worship  after 
which  the  boys  said  good-night  and  went  their  sev 
eral  ways.  Mr.  Ward  sat  with  Theodore  and  Janet, 
the  Bible  in  his  hand.  Presently  he  opened  it  again 
and  as  if  musingly,  read  here  and  there  a  verse  from 
Paul's  Second  Letter  to  Timothy. 

"Study  to  show  thyself  approved  unto  God,  a 


262          JANET:  WARD 

workman  that  needeth  not  to  be  ashamed,  rightly 
dividing  the  word  of  truth." 

"The  servant  of  the  Lord  must  not  strive,  but  be 
gentle  unto  all  men,  apt  to  teach,  patient." 

"Continue  thou  in  the  things  which  thou  hast 
learned,  and  hast  been  assured  of,  knowing  of  whom 
thou  hast  learned  them." 

"  I  am  now  ready  to  be  offered  and  the  time  of  my 
departure  is  at  hand.  I  have  fought  a  good  fight,  I 
have  finished  my  course.  I  have  kept  the  faith. 
Henceforth  there  is  laid  up  for  me  a  crown  of  right 
eousness,  which  the  Lord,  the  righteous  Judge,  shall 
give  me  at  that  day,  and  not  to  me  only  but  also  to 
all  them  that  love  His  appearing." 

He  closed  the  book,  went  to  the  open  piano,  and 
as  he  often  did,  struck  a  chord  or  two  and  began  to 
sing  one  familiar  hymn  after  another,  while  Janet 
and  Theodore  in  the  firelight  sat  with  clasped  hands. 
Finally  he  ended  with, 

"  Sing  of  Jesus,  sing  forever 
Of  the  love  that  changes  never, 
Who  or  what  from  Him  can  sever 

Those  He  makes  His  own  ? 

"  With  His  blood  the  Lord  has  bought  them, 
When  they  knew  Him  not,  He  sought  them, 
And  from  all  their  wanderings  brought  them 
His  the  praise  alone. 

"  Through  the  desert  Jesus  leads  them, 
With  the  bread  of  heaven  He  feeds  them, 
And  through  all  the  way  He  speeds  them, 
To  their  home  above." 

He  left  the  piano  and  came  to  the  two  who  were 
listening. 


THEODORE  AND  I         263 

"Janet,"  he  said  abruptly,  "when  next  you  see 
Nancy,  tell  her  how  very  glad  1  am  that  she  has  kept 
this  Thanksgiving  day  in  her  sister's  house.  All  that 
story  of  her  discovering  her  kith  and  kin  is  most  in 
teresting.  'Through  the  desert  Jesus  leads  them.' 
She  will  always  be  our  dear  Nancy  Wiburn,  yet  it  is 
a  joy  that  she  knows  herself  not  base-born  but  the 
daughter  of  reputable  folk,  with  some  one  of  her 
blood  in  the  world.  Yes,  it  is  true,  everlastingly 
true,  '  Through  the  desert  Jesus  leads  them,  with  the 
bread  of  heaven  He  feeds  them.'  Be  sure  you  give 
Nancy  my  love.  She  has  been  another  daughter  to 
me." 

"But  dear  father,  you'll  see  Nancy  yourself  to 
morrow." 

"Not  to-morrow,  dearie,  to-morrow  I'll  be  stepping 
westward.  Good-night,  my  children.  I  love  you." 
He  kissed  Janet  and  held  Theodore's  hand  in  a  close, 
firm  clasp. 

"Your  father  is  the  most  saintly  and  the  most 
satisfactory  man  I  ever  knew,"  said  Theodore  as  they 
turned  out  the  lights  and  went  to  their  room. 

It  was  not  to  be  stepping  westward  to-morrow  for 
David  Ward.  In  the  morning  he  did  not  come  to 
breakfast.  After  a  time  some  one  went  to  call  him, 
but  he  did  not  answer.  When  at  last  they  opened 
the  door,  he  was  not,  for  God  had  taken  him.  Falling 
asleep  sweetly  and  wakening  in  the  city  where,  when 
comes  the  pilgrim  home,  all  the  bells  are  rung  for 
joy. 

Good-bye,  Mr.  Greatheart!  Janet  grieved,  but  her 
grief  was  soothed  by  the  knowledge  that  her  dear 
father  had  gone  swiftly  and  painlessly  into  the  home 


264  JANET  WARD 

that  is  not  very  far  off.  She  is  faring  onward  still, 
making  earth  a  brighter  place  for  all  who  meet  her, 
and  seeking  to  do  her  Master's  will  till  "that  day 
break  and  all  the  shadows  flee  away." 

One  of  her  chief  difficulties  and  one  that  roused 
her  from  the  apathy  into  which  she  sank,  when  she 
first  had  to  live  without  her  father,  sprang  from  an 
apparent  clash  of  duties.  Janet  was  anxious  to  be  a 
perfect  wife,  to  be  a  faithful  mother,  and  to  do  all 
she  could  in  the  parish. 

But  what  of  her  talent,  that  God  had  given  her  as 
a  portion  of  her  endowment  ?  Was  it  to  be  laid  up 
in  a  napkin  ?  Was  she  to  let  it  rust,  to  lose  her 
power  to  reach  souls  by  her  pen,  to  lose  her  place  in 
the  ranks  ?  Her  husband  put  no  obstacle  in  her  way, 
but  she  soon  realized  that  while  his  study  hours  were 
never  interrupted  when  he  chose  to  be  alone,  hers 
were  at  the  mercy  of  everybody.  The  servants  came 
with  teasing  questions.  Though  she  managed  ever 
so  carefully,  Bridget  would  remember  that  the  grocer's 
list  had  not  been  complete,  or  come  to  complain  that 
the  butcher  had  sent  a  tough  steak.  The  New  York 
manse  was  as  hospitable  as  her  father's  had  been. 
Company  came  and  went.  Janet  tried  the  plan  of 
having  a  day  at  home,  but  the  congregation  did  not 
like  that  and  called  whenever  they  pleased.  Mr. 
Fuller  objected  to  her  rising  very  early,  or  sitting  up 
very  late  for  literary  work.  And  the  papers  kept  on 
sending  her  orders. 

Before  very  long,  she  proved  that  the  old  aphorism 
is  true,  that  duties  do  not  conflict.  She  learned  to 
write  in  the  between  times,  with  a  child  building  a 
block  house  or  learning  a  lesson  at  her  feet;  she 


THEODORE  AND  I         265 

learned  to  side-track  her  work  and  go  back  to  it 
without  disturbance.  Her  brain  was  capable  of 
carrying  on  two  sets  of  ideas  at  a  time.  She  could 
weave  a  fairy-tale  and  mend  a  child's  frock  at  the 
same  moment.  She  could  placate  a  troubled  youth 
who  had  not  been  elected  to  a  coveted  office  in  the 
Christian  Endeavor  and  arrange  a  plot  for  her  new 
book,  and  this  without  any  jostling.  When  she 
grew  very  tired,  she  picked  the  children  up,  left 
Theodore  to  plod  on  awhile  alone,  and  sought  refuge 
with  Stuart  in  the  hills  of  Tennessee. 

A  woman  in  these  days  must  be  many-sided. 
Janet  kept  her  sympathies  alive  by  contact  with 
many  different  kinds  of  people.  When  she  sat  in 
the  mountain  cabins,  she  felt  near  God,  but  so  she 
had  often  felt  in  New  York  drawing-rooms. 

One  day,  as  she  was  writing  at  Stuart's  table,  in 
the  study,  once  her  dear  father's,  she  was  called  by 
her  brother. 

"  Here's  an  old  friend,  sister." 

She  recognized  in  the  straight  old  figure,  the  head 
thrown  a  little  back,  the  blue  cotton  gown  and  calf 
skin  shoes,  Tim  Nelson's  mother.  The  old  woman 
had  tied  her  horse  at  the  gate;  she  had  taken  off  her 
sunbonnet  and  was  holding  it  by  the  strings. 

"I  heard  tell  you  were  here,  honey,  and  I  rode 
over  to  see  your  father's  daughter  once  more.  It 
does  me  good  to  look  at  you,  Mrs.  Fuller.  You've 
grown  like  Mr.  Ward.  I've  been  somewhere  else  too, 
honey." 

"I  know  you  have.  Belle  told  me  so.  You've 
been  visiting  her  and  the  children." 

"Yes,  honey,  I  have.     Donald  and  Janet  are  splen- 


266  JANET  WARD 

did  children.  Belle's  a  lady.  She  made  me  very 
welcome.  But  I  couldn't  stay  long.  I  couldn't 
breathe  among  the  houses.  They  close  in  too  tightly. 
I  reckon,  don't  you,  the  mansions  in  heaven  will  have 
pines  around  them,  and  roomy  lots.  You  don't  s'pose 
they're  built  in  rows,  do  you,  dearie  ?  " 

"No,  dear  Mrs.  Nelson.  I  think  we'll  find  just  ex 
actly  what  each  of  us  loves  best,  when  we  get  there. 
Jesus  said  that  He  would  prepare  a  place  for  us,  and 
the  place  of  His  preparing  would  surely  suit  us." 

"  And  you  think  we'll  know  one  another  there  ?  " 

"Certainly.  It  wouldn't  be  heaven  if  we  were  all 
strangers." 

As  Mrs.  Nelson  rode  away,  Stuart  came  back  with 
the  mail.  There  was  a  sheaf  of  letters  for  Janet,  but 
she  read  Theodore's  first,  and  Nancy's  next.  And 
Nancy's  had  a  genuine  surprise  for  her.  Since  she 
had  been  Nancy  Wiburn  only  by  adoption  and  had 
known  herself  entitled  to  another  name  by  birth, 
Janet's  friend  had  been  more  social,  less  morbid  than 
before.  It  was  news  to  Janet  that  she  was  to  marry 
and  become  the  wife  of  a  certain  Max  Kincaid,  an 
artist  of  increasing  reputation. 

"Well,"  she  mused,  "except  Miss  Prescott,  all  of 
us  who  have  been  intimate  friends  have  married  or 
will  marry.  Yet  people  declare  that  college  women 
shun  matrimony.  It  isn't  true." 

She  had  spoken  aloud.  Stuart  heard  her.  "No, 
sister,"  he  said,  "it  isn't  true,  and  it  would  be  a  pity 
if  it  were,  since  college  women  make  the  best  wives 
in  the  world.  At  least  so  I  believe." 


XXII 
7WO  A GAINST  THE  WORLD 

STUART'S  remark  was  so  emphatic  that  it 
rather  surprised  his  listeners,  but  it  was  illu 
minated  for  them  shortly  afterwards  when  his 
engagement  to  a  younger  sister  of  Mrs.  Philip  Evans 
was  announced.  The  Maurices  were  not  near 
neighbors  in  the  town  sense  of  the  word,  but  a  gallop 
across  country  was  nothing  where  people  of  ad 
jacent  counties  foregathered  on  social  occasions,  and 
the  railway  too,  had  made  it  a  matter  of  ease  to  visit 
the  Maurices.  Phil  and  Barbara  were  in  Bombay, 
but  the  lines  of  communication  between  them  and 
the  old  home  were  in  frequent  use,  and  India  did  not 
seem  very  far  off  to  the  parents  who  heard  from  their 
daughter  by  every  steamer.  It  was  at  a  missionary 
rally  where  Stuart  had  spoken  that  he  had  fallen  in 
love  with  the  girl  who  was  now  his  betrothed,  meet 
ing  her  as  if  for  the  first  time,  when  she  was  wear 
ing  the  honors  of  her  graduation.  As  a  child  he  had 
known  her,  but  it  was  with  a  young  man's  indiffer 
ence  to  a  little  lass  in  a  ruffled  frock  and  apron.  So 
that  Gladys  had  taken  his  heart  by  storm  with  her 
beauty  and  her  brightness,  and  before  he  knew  it  he 
was  hers  for  life. 

Janet  was  more  than  pleased.  She  had  longed  to 
see  the  old  manse  something  more  than  a  bachelor's 
home,  and  Gladys  was  Barbara  over  again.  It  was 

267 


268  JANET  WARD 

a  satisfaction  to  her  that  a  girl  her  mother  would  have 
loved,  should  sit  in  her  old  place  at  the  table,  and 
carry  forward  the  plans  that  had  been  dear  to  her 
gentle  mother.  Agnes  could  be  trusted. 

The  twins  were  always  so  happy  and  free  in  the 
mountains  that  she  dreaded  taking  them  home  to  the 
confinement  of  their  New  York  household.  Walks 
in  the  park  and  decorous  play  in  the  street  could  not 
make  up  for  the  unrestraint  of  the  children  who 
when  at  Uncle  Stuart's  were  allowed  to  romp  and 
range  with  the  utmost  liberty.  But  a  wife  cannot 
indulge  in  long  absences  from  home,  and  Janet 
counted  the  days  jealously  when  she  was  away. 
She  never  felt  quite  contented  except  in  her  own 
house. 

When  Theodore  and  Janet  had  united  their  for 
tunes,  it  was  his  duty  still  to  provide  largely  for  the 
support  of  his  mother  and  sister.  His  ample  salary 
as  pastor  of  an  up-town  church  had  enabled  him  to  do 
this,  and  Janet's  pen  brought  so  generous  an  addi 
tion  to  their  annual  income  that  there  had  been  no 
strain.  His  mother  had  passed  away  a  year  ago,  and 
his  invalid  sister  had  since  then  been  an  inmate  of  a 
sanitarium.  The  first  rift  in  the  cloudless  sky  of  the 
Fullers'  life  came  when  Miss  Isadore  Fuller,  wearying 
of  the  sanitarium,  expressed  her  intention  to  come 
and  live  with  her  brother. 

A  home  is  ideal  only  as  it  is  the  home  of  a  single 
family.  No  household  is  equipped  for  tranquil  living 
when  an  outsider  enters  its  doors.  Janet  held  strong 
opinions  on  this  point  and  she  resisted  with  all  her 
might,  the  permanent  introduction  of  Miss  Fuller,  as 
a  member  of  the  family.  Theodore  was  not  entirely 


TWO  AGAINST  THE  WORLD   269 

in  sympathy  with  her.  He  had  a  brother's  chivalrous 
devotion  to  an  ailing  sister,  many  years  older  than 
himself,  who  was  as  he  stated  over  and  over,  in  the 
domestic  discussions  which  grew  frequent,  "a  lovely 
Christian  woman." 

"  I  don't  object  to  Isa's  making  us  a  short  visit, 
Theodore;  that  would  be  a  pleasure  to  us  all.  But  I 
am  aware  that  a  visit  is  not  in  her  mind.  She  desires 
a  home,  and  plainly  states  that  she  means  it  to  be 
with  you.  I  am  a  busy  woman,  you  are  a  busy  man, 
and  we  have  little  children.  Isa  is  an  invalid  and  ac 
customed  to  taking  her  own  way.  She  doubtless 
has  many  little  ways  that  must  be  taken  into  account. 
The  truth  is  that  I  couldn't  cater  to  her,  and  we 
should  lose  the  crowning  charm  of  our  home  in 
having  a  third  person  constantly  here.  I  dislike  to 
be  so  ungracious  but  I  do  not  want  your  sister  here 
in  our  dear  home." 

"What  then  do  you  suggest?"  said  Theodore 
coldly.  More  than  most  men,  which  is  saying  a 
good  deal,  he  deprecated  contradiction.  Uncon 
sciously  he  was  always  something  of  an  autocrat, 
and  when  he  had  expressed  a  wish,  he  liked  it  to  be 
fulfilled.  Janet  was  often  a  little  amused  at  his  impa 
tience  with  dictation  when  he  was  so  very  fond  of 
being  a  dictator,  with  his  irritability  at  being  opposed 
in  an  argument,  as  though  the  other  side  had  not  its 
equal  right  to  be  heard.  But  she  was  not  amused 
when  he  rose  with  an  air  of  offense,  and  looking  at 
his  watch,  said  he  must  go  to  his  study,  before  she 
had  had  time  to  answer  him. 

"My  dear  husband,"  she  looked  at  him  smilingly 
as  she  spoke,  "let  the  study  wait.  Surely  we  may 


270          JANET: 

finish  our  talk  like  two  reasonable  beings.  You  dearly 
love  Isadore,  and  I  love  you  because  you  do;  I  think 
she  and  I  will  love  one  another  if  we  don't  have  to 
live  together.  Believe  me,  it  is  not  well  to  bring  an 
exacting  middle-aged  lady,  who  is  also  a  sufferer 
from  nerves,  into  a  home  like  yours  and  mine, 
where  so  much  is  going  on  and  where  there  are 
children.  I  would  engage  a  pleasant  little  apartment 
for  your  sister  very  near  us,  and  provide  her  with  a 
maid,  and  if  necessary  with  a  nurse.  She  would 
thus  be  independent,  and  you  could  see  her  every 
day.  She  might  spend  her  Sundays  here." 

"I  cannot  afford  so  much  expense,  Janet,  and  you 
know  it.  Besides  that  is  not  what  Isadore  wants. 
She  is  very  lonely.  Since  mother  died  she  has  been 
desolate.  She  longs  for  brotherly  and  sisterly  com 
panionship  and  you  would  put  her  off  with  a  nurse 
and  a  maid.  That,  pardon  me,  dear,  is  giving  her  a 
stone  when  she  asks  for  bread." 

Janet  was  silent.  A  feeling  of  delicacy  restrained 
her  from  saying  that  the  expense  would  not  be  an 
element  to  consider.  Her  own  income  was  con 
stantly  increasing,  and  she  had  no  fear  on  the  score 
of  money.  And  though  it  costs  tremendously  to  live 
in  a  city  like  New  York  and  the  pastor  of  a  flourishing 
church,  however  liberally  paid,  has  expenses  far  be 
yond  the  ken  of  his  congregation,  expenses  for  books, 
for  periodicals,  for  charity,  for  the  regular  demands  of 
his  denomination,  so  that  often  he  is  proportionally 
the  largest  giver  in  the  parish,  yet  Janet  was  sure  that 
Theodore  could  carry  out  her  wish  if  he  would  only 
consent  to  do  so.  She  knew  that  the  moment  to 
gain  this  was  not  auspicious.  A  certain  set  of  the 


TWO  AGAINST  THE  WORLD   271 

masculine  jaw,  a  certain  firmness  of  the  mouth, 
warns  a  wife  when  further  argument  is  useless,  for 
the  time  being,  so  Janet  dropped  the  matter. 

"Never  mind  dear,"  she  said,  "I  am  wrong  to 
detain  you.  Don't  be  troubled.  We're  not  going  to 
quarrel  about  anything;  we  never  have,  you  know. 
This  affair  will  settle  itself  somehow,  I  am  sure." 

"  Yes,  Janet,  we  both  wish,  I  am  sure,  only  to  obey 
God's  will  in  the  matter." 

At  this  Janet  lost  her  temper.  "  Indeed  I  am  not 
sure,"  she  answered  vehemently,  "you  are  not 
called  upon  to  take  that  tone.  What  you  want  is  to 
have  me  obey  your  will.  Don't  deceive  yourself, 
Theodore." 

He  gave  her  a  most  reproachful  look  and  withdrew. 
For  her  part  she  sat  down  at  her  desk,  and  tried  to 
write,  and  found  that  to  do  so  was  impossible.  She 
was  not  in  the  light  frame.  Whether  to  run  up 
stairs  and  concede  everything  and  make  her  peace 
with  Theodore  by  begging  pardon  for  her  last  dis 
respectful  remark,  or  to  await  his  repentance,  and 
give  him  her  forgiveness  when  he  asked  it,  she  did  not 
know.  What  she  did  know  was  that  while  there 
was  friction  between  them,  neither  husband  nor  wife 
could  accomplish  much.  They  were  not  used  to 
small  disputes,  and  they  were  too  truly  comrades  on 
the  road  to  treat  each  other  with  scant  courtesy. 
Both  Janet  and  her  husband  practiced  politeness  in 
their  ordinary  intercourse.  Politeness  is  a  stronger 
shield  to  happiness  than  some  families  know.  It  is 
exceedingly  impolite  to  quarrel,  and  ladies  and  gentle 
men  cannot  stoop  to  anything  so  ill-bred. 

Janet  closed  her  desk  in  the  morning  room  where 


272  JANET  WARD 

they  had  been  talking  and  went  to  her  own  room 
to  change  her  dress,  as  she  had  a  hospital  board 
meeting  that  day.  She  was  putting  on  her  bonnet 
when  her  husband's  low  knock,  the  one  that  always 
preceded  his  entrance,  sounded  at  her  door. 

"Come  in,  dear,"  she  called. 

He  crossed  the  room  and  took  her  in  his  arms. 
"Please,  Janet,"  he  said,  "do  precisely  as  you  like.  I 
am  all  wrong,  headstrong  and  selfish.  It  is  you  who 
are  the  home  queen,  and  I  am  ashamed  that  I  ever 
question  your  decisions." 

It  was  her  turn  to  be  sorry,  and  she  said  so.  They 
separated  to  go  on  their  respective  rounds  with  peace 
between  them.  That  night  they  decided  to  let  Isa- 
dore  know  that  they  would  establish  her  close  by 
them,  but  that  they  preferred  to  keep  their  home 
intact.  And  the  next  day,  they  went  together  to 
select  an  apartment,  coming  home  with  the  refusal 
of  three. 

As  they  entered  their  door  in  the  twilight,  little 
Emily  came  running  to  meet  them.  "Aunt  Isadore 
is  here,  mother!  "  she  said. 

The  matter  had  settled  itself.  Isadore  had  arrived, 
and  for  the  moment,  must  be  made  welcome. 
When  the  plan  for  her  separate  home  was  unfolded, 
she  simply  declined  it  once  for  all. 

Isadore  Fuller  was  forty-five  years  old.  The  gentlest 
of  human  beings  in  manner,  with  a  voice  never  raised 
above  a  low  even  tone,  with  a  countenance  on  which 
years  of  nervous  prostration  had  not  written  a  line, 
she  was  still  the  most  obstinate  of  women.  Hers 
was  the  stubbornness  of  inertia.  She  allowed  one  to 
talk,  to  suggest,  to  direct,  to  intimate,  but  she  op- 


TWO  AGAINST  THE  WORLD   273 

posed  whatever  did  not  fall  in  with  her  own  wishes, 
with  a  languid  and  amiable  apathy  which  nothing 
could  overcome.  The  knowledge  of  this  trait,  or 
habit,  had  been  in  Theodore's  mind,  when  he  had  so 
resolutely  endeavored  to  accept  her  as  an  inmate  of 
the  home.  He  knew,  and  he  knew  that  Isadore 
knew,  that  if  she  resolved  to  come,  come  she  would. 
Janet  might  have  spared  her  breath. 

Marrying  would  be  a  much  less  complex  affair  than 
it  is  if  there  were  no  problem  of  relations-in-law  to 
solve.  Adam  and  Eve  had  nobody  but  themselves  to 
consult,  and  for  them  life's  adjustments  were  easy. 
In  our  modern  days,  a  girl  and  a  man  meet,  are 
mutually  attracted,  and  finally  are  wedded.  They 
take  small  heed  to  the  fact  that  on  both  sides  there 
are  kindred  whose  peculiarities  will  have  much  to  do 
with  making  their  future  pathway  smooth  or  rough. 
Each  has  a  family  in  the  background  who  are  more 
or  less  to  be  reckoned  with  in  the  future  before  the 
home-making  is  satisfactorily  accomplished.  Because 
he  is  more  in  the  world  and  less  in  the  home  a  hus 
band  often  succeeds  far  better  with  his  wife's  relations, 
than  she  with  his,  but  as  a  rule,  if  there  are  to  be 
peace  and  reciprocal  esteem,  and  growing  affection 
between  the  married  pair  and  the  relatives  of  each  on 
both  sides,  they  would  better  dwell  apart.  Too  much 
intimate  acquaintanceship  is  a  mistake. 

Day  followed  day.  Isadore  was  in  possession  of 
Janet's  finest  guest-chamber,  with  its  dainty  belong 
ings,  its  luxurious  bed,  its  beautiful  ornaments,  and 
of  the  little  dressing  room  attached.  In  the  years  of 
her  invalidism  she  had  become  extremely  high-church 
in  her  views  and  practices,  and  she  regarded  the  ways 


274  JANET  WARD 

of  the  Presbyterian  household  of  her  brother  with  no 
little  criticism.  One  of  the  first  things  she  did  was 
to  fit  up  a  corner  of  the  room  for  her  devotions.  She 
took  down,  and  ordered  the  maid  to  set  outside  her 
door,  a  very  exquisite  flower-piece  which  had  been 
one  of  Nancy  Wiburn's  wedding  presents  to  Janet. 

Where  it  had  hung,  she  arranged  a  crimson  dra 
pery  in  heavy  folds,  and  against  this  she  set  an 
ivory  crucifix  in  bold  relief.  Her  pious  books,  man 
uals,  hymnals,  and  other  works  which  she  daily  read, 
she  placed  on  a  shelf  under  the  crucifix,  and  beneath 
this  was  her  prayer-cushion. 

"  How  impertinent,"  thought  Janet  as  she  picked 
up  the  discarded  picture  and  carried  it  away  to  her 
own  chamber. 

"  Probably  these  symbols  are  a  comfort  to  her," 
said  Theodore,  indulgently,  when  he  heard  of  the 
corner  sanctuary.  "They  can  do  her  no  harm.  I 
am  not  in  sympathy  with  Isadore's  views,  but  I  hope 
I  am  broad  enough  not  to  be  annoyed  by  them. 
Remember  how  much  she  has  had  to  suffer,  Janet." 

In  these  days  Janet  was  learning  the  beautiful  grace 
of  silence.  Privately  she  was  arriving  at  the  conclu 
sion  that  a  good  deal  of  Isadore's  invalidism  was  im 
aginary,  and  she  had  less  patience  with  it  than  before 
it  had  come  under  her  notice  every  day.  She  ob 
served  that  while  Isadore  frequently  wished  meals 
served  in  her  room,  she  always  ate  with  good  ap 
petite,  and  she  also  saw  that  when  there  was  agree 
able  company  at  the  dinner  table,  Isadore  was 
always  strong  enough  to  be  counted  upon.  Janet 
had  to  pray  more  than  ever  in  her  life,  for  strength 
to  endure  daily  pin-pricks.  She  bore  herself  so 


TWO  AGAINST  THE  WORLD   275 

serenely  that  her  dearest  friends  did  not  dream  how 
tired  she  was  growing. 

"If  Isadore  really  means  to  stay  on  indefinitely," 
Janet  said  one  day  to  Elizabeth  Evans  who  was  visit 
ing  in  town  and  had  dropped  in  for  afternoon  tea, 
"I  may  as  well  accept  the  situation.  I  shall  not  let 
the  matter  make  disturbance  between  Theodore  and 
me.  Our  love  must  endure  the  test." 

"Wasn't  it  queer,"  laughed  Elizabeth,  "that  the 
Fullers  should  have  named  two  children  so  nearly 
alike,  Isadore  and  Theodore,  for  euphony,  I  presume  ?  " 

"Now  don't  be  frivolous,  dear.  Presently  you'll 
have  to  go  up-stairs  and  see  her.  I  have  discovered 
that  she  is  very  much  disturbed  if  she  is  left  out  of 
anything,  and  when  my  friends  come,  they  must 
either  go  and  see  her  or  else  she  must  come  and  see 
them.  This  is  one  of  her  bad  days,  so  you  must 
go  up.  Just  a  few  minutes  before  you  leave." 

"  Pray,  how  does  she  know  that  I  am  here  ?  In  a 
home  like  this,  where  so  many  are  coming,  how  does 
the  dear  lady  discriminate  between  those  who  come 
for  the  minister,  and  those  who  come  that  they  may 
see  your  sweet  self?  It  puzzles  me,  Janet." 

"  It  did  puzzle  me,  but  she  has  very  acute  hearing, 
and  her  door  is  always  ajar.  That  is  a  thing  I  can  bear. 
The  thing  I  can't  bear  patiently  is  her  crossness  with 
the  children.  She  has  no  toleration  for  either  of 
them.  One  would  fancy  that  I  might  be  trusted  to 
look  after  their  manners,  but  no  !  Aunt  Isadore  nags 
from  morning  till  night.  They  laugh  too  loudly,  they 
run  through  the  house,  they  are  not  marvels  of  im 
plicit  obedience,  they  forget  that  their  father  is  a 
minister.  They  vex  Aunt  Isadore. 


276  JANET  WARD 

"  'Poor  Theodore,'  she  said  the  other  day,  '  what  a 
pity  he  married  a  literary  woman.  Janet,  you  do 
your  best  I  suppose,  but  your  work  does  monopolize 
you,  more  than  you  think.  You  neglect  Theodore 
and  the  children! '" 

"Poor  Theodore,  indeed!"  ejaculated  Elizabeth. 
"Poor  Janet  rather!  Well,  you  must  cultivate  a 
habit  of  regarding  the  humorous  aspect  of  the  case. 
It  has  a  very  funny  side.  Here  is  a  woman,  depend 
ent  on  your  goodness  for  her  home,  here  in  it  with 
out  your  consent,  and  likely  here  to  stay,  who  is 
critical,  who  interferes,  and  who  is  too  obtuse  to  see 
herself  in  a  false  position.  Janet,  look  at  it  as  sim 
ply  droll,  and  whenever  it  is  too  much  for  you,  run 
away  for  awhile;  run  away  to  Stuart  in  Tennessee 
and  let  the  peace  of  the  mountains  fold  you  closely 
about,  or  slip  up  country  to  me  at  Dene's  Mills.  No, 
I'll  see  Miss  Fuller  another  time,  dear.  I  must  hurry 
home  now." 

Occasionally  in  this  strange  world  of  ours  it  hap 
pens  that  a  bigger  trouble  comes  along  and  blunts 
the  edge  of  several  smaller  ones.  When  Janet  looked 
only  at  the  vexation  of  her  sister-in-law's  constant 
presence  in  the  manse,  it  seemed  a  big  enough 
annoyance  to  blot  out  the  sunshine,  but  when  she 
rose  above  it,  and  lived  above  it,  the  atmosphere 
grew  clearer. 

In  these  days,  Janet  went  back  to  her  girlhood's 
habit  of  taking  everything,  however  small,  to  her 
heavenly  Father.  She  had  insensibly  drifted  out 
from  the  simplicity  of  the  manse  training,  and  though 
she  never  omitted  the  form  of  devotion,  she  had 
allowed  herself  to  grow  hurried.  There  was  sure  to 


TWO  AGAINST  rHE  WORLD   277 

be  so  much  to  do.  As  in  the  days  of  pressure  when 
in  the  freshman  class  at  Lucas,  she  had  for  awhile 
abbreviated  her  silent  time,  she  had  gradually  as  a 
minister's  wife,  cumbered  with  a  thousand  cares,  for 
gotten  to  take  her  regular  morning  and  evening  hours 
for  sitting  at  the  Master's  feet.  She  returned  to 
the  old  position  of  Marcus  Antoninus,  "Everywhere 
and  at  all  times  it  is  in  thy  power  piously  to  acquiesce 
in  thy  present  condition  and  to  behave  justly  to  those 
about  thee."  As  Janet  resumed  prayer  she  grew 
quieter,  she  grew  more  resigned;  she  learned  to 
make  the  best  and  not  the  worst  of  the  position 
which  had  been  forced  upon  her.  To  live  with  the 
uncongenial  is  hard,  but  it  is  not  the  hardest  thing  in 
life.  To  live  with  the  uncongenial  and  rebel  against 
the  situation  is  infinitely  harder.  One  day  she  found 
this  quotation  in  a  little  book  which  she  liked  to  keep 
near  her  hand, 

"  Every  relation  to  mankind  of  hate  or  scorn  or 
neglect,  is  full  of  vexation  and  torment.  There  is 
nothing  to  do  with  men  but  to  love  them;  to  con 
template  their  virtues  with  admiration,  their  faults 
with  pity  and  forbearance,  and  their  injuries  with 
forgiveness.  Task  all  the  ingenuity  of  your  mind  to 
devise  some  other  thing  but  you  never  can  find  it. 
To  hate  your  adversary  will  not  help  you  ;  to  kill 
him  will  not  help  you;  nothing  within  the  compass 
of  the  universe  can  help  you,  but  to  love  him.  How 
many  a  knot  of  mystery  and  misunderstanding 
would  be  untied  by  one  word  spoken  in  simple  and 
confiding  truth  of  heart!  How  many  a  solitary  place 
would  be  made  glad  if  love  were  there;  and  how 
many  a  dark  dwelling  would  be  filled  with  light! " 


278          JANET: 

"That  is  what  I  must  do,"  she  exclaimed,  "I 
must  love  Isadore.  I  have  been  merely  tolerating 
her.  Father  would  never  have  done  that.  Why,  I 
remember  his  sweetness  to  those  who  offended  him; 
I  have  been  putting  myself  first." 

The  children,  fresh  and  rosy  from  a  walk,  came 
for  their  hour  of  mother-talk,  and  mother  was  so 
gentle  and  loving  that  they  both  felt  the  new  influ 
ence.  When  they  had  finished  their  tea  in  the  nurs 
ery  and  had  had  their  frolic  and  said  their  prayers, 
Janet  kissed  and  hugged  them,  and  then  went  with 
out  solicitation  to  sit  awhile  with  Isadore. 

"If  it  be  ever  so  hard  to  love  her,  I  must  try  to  do 
it,  with  God's  help,"  she  said. 

The  effort  was  hard,  for  Isadore  was  as  a  rule 
ungracious.  Her  life  from  the  beginning  had  been 
to  her  a  disappointment,  her  attitude  to  people  in 
general  was  that  of  antagonism  or  distrust,  and  her 
world  was  a  very  narrow  one.  She  cared  a  good 
deal  for  her  brother;  very  little  for  her  brother's  wife. 
In  fact,  she  had  never  ceased  to  feel  jealous  of  Janet, 
for  she  imagined  her  to  have  robbed  her  of  the 
highest  place  in  her  brother's  affections.  So,  it  was 
not  much  satisfaction  to  either  that  accrued  from 
Janet's  endeavors  to  make  Isadore  happier.  But 
Janet  kept  on  praying  for  her,  a  very  wise  thing  to 
do.  When  we  carry  our  burdens  to  God,  we  may 
well  leave  them  with  Him.  He  will  enable  us  to  bear 
them,  or  will  bear  them  for  us. 

The  larger  trouble  was  to  make  the  smaller  one 
light  by  comparison.  The  newly  revived  habit  of 
prayer  was  a  preparation  to  Janet  for  a  complication 
which  came  upon  her  as  a  great  surprise. 


AGAINST  THE  WORLD   279 

Churches  in  the  twentieth  century  are  as  the  tab 
ernacle  of  old,  in  the  wilderness  pilgrimage  of  the 
Hebrews.  They  are  the  habitations  of  the  Divine 
Name.  They  conserve  the  best  life  of  the  commu 
nity.  But  they  are  also  imperfect  human  institutions, 
and  one  feature  of  their  imperfection  is  found  in  the 
rivalry  between  adjoining  congregations.  Far  too 
often  the  commercial  test  is  brought  to  bear  upon  the 
success  or  non-success  of  a  minister.  As  I  once 
heard  a  good  deacon  say,  speaking  according  to  his 
light,  "If  the  minister  can  secure  the  income,  we 
will  do  the  rest." 

The  church  to  which  Mr.  Fuller  ministered  had 
never  been  popular  though  occasionally  there  had 
been  a  crowd.  For  years  it  had  held  a  substantial 
and  very  conservative  constituency.  Solid  men 
attended  it,  paid  their  pew  rent  regularly,  and 
gave  large  contributions  to  the  causes  which  at  in 
tervals  were  presented  by  the  denomination.  The 
auditorium  was  well  filled  at  the  morning  service  but 
pews  were  sometimes  empty.  Few  strangers  came 
to  take  the  places  of  those  members,  who,  removing 
farther  up-town,  still  paid  for  their  pews  and  sittings, 
but  ceased  to  give  their  personal  presence.  Men  and 
women  are  gregarious.  They  prefer  to  worship  in 
a  large  congregation  to  sitting  in  one  where  the 
listeners  are  few.  It  began  to  be  said,  in  that  accent 
of  faint  praise  which  is  fatal  to  a  pastor's  influence, 
that  Mr.  Fuller  was  a  charming  man,  delightful  to 
meet  socially,  a  thorough  gentleman,  but  not  a  strong 
preacher,  or  that  Mr.  Fuller  preached  finely  but  was 
too  mystical  or  too  spiritual  or  too  profound,  and  was 
deficient  in  the  social  equipment.  Both  charges 


28o          JANET:  WARD 

were  untrue,  and  arose  from  the  dissatisfaction  of 
those  who  made  them.  They  were  the  more  freely 
made  that  a  new  pastor  who  had  recently  been  called 
to  a  neighboring  church  was  sweeping  the  church- 
going  people  into  his  fold  in  great  numbers,  and  at 
tracting  many  non-church-goers. 

With  the  sensitiveness  of  a  minister's  wife,  who 
as  a  minister's  daughter,  had  lived  through  a  similar 
situation  before,  Janet  saw  this  in  its  fullness,  be 
fore  Theodore  did.  Or,  she  thought  she  did.  She 
observed,  however,  that  he  was  seeking  more  than 
his  wont  to  give  his  sermons  picturesque  titles,  and  to 
fuse  the  dramatic  into  his  style,  which  was  colloquial 
and  persuasive  rather  than  sensational.  And  he  was 
inclined  more  than  formerly  to  yield  to  the  aggres 
sions  of  the  choir.  He  was  as  always  indefatigable 
in  visiting  the  sick,  and  those  in  bereavement  turned 
to  him  for  consolation  and  were  never  sent  empty 
away.  And  too,  he  devoted  more  time  than  ever  to 
the  work  at  the  Mission,  where  his  young  assistant 
was  breaking  the  bread  of  life  to  the  needy. 

Janet  was  walking  home  with  her  husband  from 
prayer-meeting  one  Wednesday  evening.  The  meet 
ing  had  been  of  the  usual  type.  Only  the  faithful 
few  who  were  always  to  be  expected  were  present, 
and  after  the  opening  exercises  and  the  pastor's  re 
marks,  long  and  embarrassing  pauses  had  followed, 
broken  by  hymns,  or  by  reluctant  addresses  to  the 
throne.  The  two  walked  on  in  silence,  after  a  pa 
rishioner  or  so,  keeping  them  company  to  their  own 
corners,  had  said  good-night. 

"Nevertheless,  Theodore!"  said  Janet,  as  if  taking 
up  a  conversation  that  had  been  interrupted  and  sim- 


AGAINSr  THE  WORLD   281 

ply  following  out  her  own  train  of  thought,  "  never 
theless,  I  am  a  good  deal  uplifted  by  having  gone  to 
prayer-meeting.  The  dullest  prayer-meeting  I  ever 
attended,  not  that  this  is  it,  has  done  me  great  good. 
It  gives  one  a  chance  for  communion  with  God." 

They  were  on  a  dark  side  street,  a  short  cut  to 
their  home.  Janet's  hand  was  on  Theodore's  arm. 
He  reached  out  his  other  hand  and  gave  it  a  little 
squeeze. 

"You  are  a  champion  comforter,  little  wife!"  he 
said.  "You  remind  me  of  my  old  Aunt  Almira  in 
Connecticut.  She  said  to  me  once  in  a  burst  of  con 
fidence,  that  she  had  heard  folk  say  they  were  too 
tired  to  go  to  church;  for  her  part  it  was  the  only 
place  she  ever  went  where  she  could  sit  still  and 
fold  her  hands  and  rest." 

"Your  Aunt  Almira  in  Connecticut,"  said  Janet, 
"must  be  a  myth.  I  never  heard  of  her  before." 

"She  was  no  myth.  When  I  was  a  little  chap  I 
used  to  go  and  spend  summer  vacations  with  her  on 
the  farm.  They  sent  me  there  from  Tennessee  the 
year  after  I  had  scarlet  fever.  She  died  long  ago, 
and  she  was  the  last  survivor  of  our  Connecticut  kin, 
and  I  haven't  thought  of  her  for  years." 

"Well,  I  didn't  mean  my  remark  about  prayer- 
meetings  in  her  sense,  dearest.  Theodore,  we've 
happened  to  settle  most  of  our  important  affairs  in 
life,  on  New  York  streets.  Suppose  we  don't  go 
home  just  yet.  It's  early.  Stop  that  Columbus  Ave 
nue  car,  and  let's  go  'way  up-town,  and  then  step  out 
and  have  an  old-fashioned  walk  and  talk." 

Theodore  hailed  a  passing  car,  and  they  were 
whirled  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  to  a  realm  entirely 


282          JANET: 

foreign  to  their  usual  beat.  There  they  did  as  Janet 
had  proposed,  walked  and  talked. 

"You  see,  my  love,"  said  the  wife,  "I  am  not 
blind.  I  have  noticed  that  the  congregation  is  not 
increasing.  That  I  have  not  cared  for.  Your  preach 
ing  has  been  blessed,  people  have  been  converted,  a 
good  deal  of  excellent  work  has  been  done.  What  I 
have  not  liked  has  been  to  see  you  trying  to  adopt 
methods  not  your  own.  You  do  not  know  it,  dear, 
but  you  are  less  a  preacher  than  an  essayist  just  now. 
You  are  letting  go  of  the  simple  Bible.  People  need 
to  study  the  Bible.  To  a  good  many  of  them  it  is  a 
very  unfamiliar  book  indeed." 

She  paused  for  breath. 

"Janet,"  asked  Theodore  quietly,  "did  you  know 
that  there  has  been  a  cut  in  my  salary  ?  " 

This  was  news.  He  had  not  told  her,  and  she  had 
not  divined  it,  but  she  manifested  no  astonishment. 
Why  should  she?  Reductions  in  salary  are  obvi 
ously  businesslike  and  therefore  to  be  expected  if 
congregations  fall  off.  That  the  church  has  still  a 
very  respectable  amount  of  wealth  in  its  ranks,  does 
not  enter  into  the  case. 

"No,  dear,"  said  Janet,  "  I  didn't  know.  Why  did 
you  not  tell  me  ?  " 

"I  hadn't  the  courage.  It  seemed  so  like  the  first 
note  of  failure.  Failure  should  not  come  to  so 
young  a  man  as  I  am,  Janet.  It's  too  humiliating." 

"I've  heard  you  say,  sir,"  she  answered  archly, 
"that  nothing  is  humiliating  which  God  appoints, 
and  that  failure  can  came  to  no  man  who  is  living 
within  the  will  of  God." 

"Yes,  that  I  have  said,  and  that  I  believe." 


TWO  AGAINST  THE  WORLD   283 

"  Then  if  you've  been  doing  your  whole  duty  with 
both  hands,  failure  cannot  be  attributed  to  you. 
What  I  wish,  dearest,  is  that  you  may  be  strong 
enough  to  preach  precisely  as  you  always  have,  if 
possible  more  faithfully  than  ever,  but  along  the  old 
ways  of  the  pure  gospel.  I  can't  bear  my  husband 
to  attempt  sensationalism.  Never  mind  a  little  ebb 
tide  in  adherents.  It  may  precede  a  flood-tide. 
Never  mind  the  lessened  income.  We  have  enough 
for  our  needs.  Why,  Theodore,  in  all  my  girlish  life 
I  never  dreamed  of  having  the  money  you  and  I  have 
now." 

"There  are  the  children  to  be  educated." 

"  One  day  at  a  time,  Theodore." 

"  There  is  Isadore.  Her  expenses  do  not  diminish. 
It  may  reach  a  point  when  I  could  not  support  my 
sister  outside  my  own  home,  and  I've  always  felt 
that  if  she  grew  too  great  a  tax  for  your  wonderful 
strength  and  sweetness,  Janet,  I  could  make  some 
other  arrangement." 

"Don't  think  of  Isadore.  I  am  contented  to  have 
her  stay.  I  am  finding  out  her  lovable  phases,  dear. 
She  is  better  in  our  care,  than  she  could  be  with 
strangers,  and  I  see  now  that  to  put  her  in  a  house  of 
her  own,  would  be  cruel." 

They  were  passing  under  an  electric  light.  Theo 
dore  turned  and  gazed,  in  the  deserted  street,  with 
deep  admiration  into  the  face  of  his  wife. 

"Janet,"  he  said,  "you  are  simply  the  most  in 
comparable  wife  man  ever  had.  You  are  the  dearest 
and  best  of  comforters." 

"It  is  amusing,"  she  answered,  "that  you  and  I 
are  always  making  love  to  one  another  on  the  street." 


284  JANET  WARD 

"Well,  dear,"  he  said,  earnestly,  "I  feel  stronger 
for  our  talk.  I'll  try  to  do  the  Lord's  work  with  the 
weapons  He  has  put  in  my  hands.  Whatever  be  the 
issue  of  this  apparent  falling  off  I  am  still  the  pastor 
of  our  dear  church  and  am  bound  to  do  a  pastor's 
duty  here,  a  day's  work  at  a  time.  And  we  are, 
thank  heaven,  two  against  the  world." 

"Two  who  are  one,"  said  Janet,  "and  Christ  is 
our  own  to  help  us." 

Before  Janet  slept  that  night,  she  rummaged  in  her 
scrap-books  and  found  a  poem  her  mother  had  liked. 
She  laid  it  on  Theodore's  desk  where  his  eye  should 
fall  on  it  in  the  morning. 

TRUST  FOR  THE  DAY. 

Because  in  a  day  of  my  days  to  come 

There  waiteth  a  grief  to  be, 
Shall  my  heart  grow  faint,  and  my  lips  be  dumb, 

In  this  day  that  is  bright  for  me  ? 

Because  of  a  subtle  sense  of  pain, 
Like  a  pulse-beat,  threaded  through 

The  bliss  of  my  thought,  shall  I  dare  refrain 
From  delight  in  the  pure  and  true  ? 

In  the  harvest-field  shall  I  cease  to  glean, 
Since  the  bloom  of  the  Spring  has  fled  ? 

Shall  I  veil  mine  eyes  to  the  noonday  sheen, 
Since  the  dew  of  the  morn  hath  sped  ? 

Nay,  phantom  ill  with  the  warning  hand, 

Nay,  ghosts  of  the  weary  past, — 
Serene,  as  in  armor  of  faith,  I  stand ; 

Ye  may  not  hold  me  fast. 


TWO  AGAINST  THE  WORLD   285 

Your  shadows  across  my  sun  may  fall, 

But  as  bright  the  sun  shall  shine  ; 
For  I  walk  in  a  light  ye  cannot  pall, 

The  light  of  the  King  divine. 

And  whatever  He  sends  from  day  to  day, 

I  am  sure  that  His  name  is  Love ; 
And  He  never  will  let  me  lose  my  way 

To  my  rest  in  His  home  above. 

Every  Christian  knows  that  there  are  crises  in  which 
the  only  thing  possible  is  to  trust,  not  seeing  much 
of  the  onward  path,  but  living  and  clinging  and  doing 
one's  best.  And  when  these  crises  come,  the  child 
of  the  divine  Father  can  say,  out  of  rich  experience, 
that  it  is  better  "  to  walk  with  God  in  the  dark,  than 
to  walk  alone  in  the  light." 

Janet's  brothers,  grown  up  now,  and  in  the  thick 
of  life's  conflicts,  were  great  helps  to  her  with 
their  cheery  optimism  and  resolute  courage.  Stuart 
wrote  the  most  encouraging  letters,  bubbling  over 
with  fun  and  hope.  The  manse,  she  saw,  was  what 
it  always  had  been,  a  refuge  for  every  one  who  was 
in  need  of  a  shelter.  One  day  Dr.  Huntoon,  tearing 
himself  from  his  patients,  and  leaving  the  mountains 
for  a  glimpse  of  the  world-life  he  had  seen  little  of 
in  his  busy  career,  appeared  at  Janet's  door,  carpet 
bag  in  hand.  It  was  literally  a  carpet-bag,  and  the 
trim  maid,  seeing  a  shaggy,  unkempt  old  gentleman, 
in  an  antiquated  beaver  hat  and  an  old-fashioned  coat, 
hesitated  about  admitting  him,  but  Janet  knew  the 
voice  and  came  flying  down  to  meet  him,  giving  him 
the  welcome  due  her  old  friend  and  her  father's. 
He  went  to  Theodore's  church,  and  was  outspoken 


286  JANET  WARD 

in  his  liking  for  the  service,  though  flowers  on  the 
pulpit  were  to  his  eye,  a  needless  frivolity,  and  he 
could  have  spared  the  splendors  of  the  organ,  and 
was  openly  disturbed  at  the  prolonged  Amens  of  the 
choir.  They  were  superfluous  to  Dr.  Huntoon. 


XXIII 
I  HAVE  FOUGHT  A  GOOD  FIGHT 

THEODORE  FULLER  was  not  beaten  in  the 
struggle  to  maintain  his  end  in  the  part  of 
the  field  where  the  Master  had  set  him  to 
work.     After  his  confidential  talk  with  Janet  he  sat 
down  and  seriously   reviewed  the  last  year.     "A 
prudent  wife  is  from  the  Lord,"  he  said  seriously,  and 
in  the  privacy  of  his  study,  feeling  at  the  same  time 
some  thrusts  of  conscience  because  he  had  not  in 
variably  been  as  considerate  of  this  good  gift  as  he 
might  have  been. 

The  hallucination  indulged  in  by  some  young 
people  that  their  first  years  of  wedlock  are  their 
happiest  is  not  verified  by  experience.  First  years 
are  years  of  adjustment,  and  adjustment  is  seldom 
painless.  As  time  passes  and  the  two  who  are  far 
ing  on  together  have  more  and  more  one  heart  and 
one  soul  between  them,  they  realize  the  joy  of  mutual 
helpfulness  and  service. 

Janet  deliberately  made  her  choice  in  these  crucial 
years.  She  had  her  hours  of  battle,  and  only  the  dear 
Lord  whose  compassions  fail  not,  knew  how  severe 
and  prolonged  they  were.  Finally,  she  renounced 
not  only  the  wish  for  literary  recognition,  for  con 
tinuing  to  be  a  widely  sought,  widely  read  and  suc 
cessful  author,  but  she  abandoned  almost  entirely  the 
effort  to  make  money  by  her  pen. 

287 


288          JANET: 

"My  first  and  foremost  obligation  is  to  second 
my  husband.  I  am  not  merely  his  wife,  I  am  the 
wife  of  a  minister.  I  never  appreciated  it  so  much 
as  now.  This  home  is  not  ours  only.  It  is  a  manse, 
a  home  for  the  people,"  she  said,  as  all  by  herself  in 
the  quiet  of  her  little  book-room,  where  she  had  been 
accustomed  to  write,  she  made  her  renunciation. 
She  glanced  up,  and  from  the  wall  above  her,  looked 
down  the  benignant  face  of  her  father.  It  seemed  to 
her  as  if  the  portrait  were  alive,  so  vivid  were  the 
eyes,  so  regnant  was  the  peace  on  the  brow,  and  in 
the  stillness  she  could  almost  hear  her  father  quoting 
again  his  favorite  verse  from  St.  Paul,  "  I  have  fought 
a  good  fight,  I  have  finished  my  course,  I  have 
kept  the  faith.  Henceforth,  there  is  laid  up  for 
me  a  crown  of  righteousness  that  fadeth  not 
away." 

Janet  sent  for  Nancy  to  make  her  a  little  visit. 

"  I  want  you  to  find  for  me  two  or  three  young 
girls  who  need  a  lift,"  she  said.  "I  am  giving  up 
some  of  my  work,  and  I  would  like  to  help  some 
clever  newcomer  in  getting  a  foothold.  You  always 
have  a  train  of  people  after  you  who  need  a  helping 
hand." 

"Yes,"  Nancy  answered,  "that's  one  way  that  I 
take  to  pay  the  debt  I  owe  to  a  kind  providence  for 
helping  me  when  I  was  an  orphan  and  kinless.  Did 
you  know,  Janet,  that  I  have  a  little  niece  with  me 
now,  that  she  is  staying  here  under  my  care,  and 
best  of  all,  she  has  the  same  capability  for  art  and  for 
color  and  form  that  I  have.  Well,  I  will  find  the 
girls  you  want,  but  Janet,  you  are  not  throwing  over 
board  your  goods  and  chattels  because  you  are  ill, 


FOUGHT  A  GOOD  FIGHT     289 

are  you  ?    I  couldn't  bear  to  think  of  you  as  breaking 
down." 

"I  was  never  better.  I  am  perfectly  well,  and 
only  giving  up  one  sort  of  work  that  I  may  take  an 
other.  By  the  way,  have  you  seen  Barbara  Evans' 
last  letter  ?  " 

"No,  it  goes  to  you  first,  Janet." 

A  plan  had  been  agreed  upon  between  Barbara  and 
some  of  her  old  friends  that  she  should  write  to  them 
in  turn  from  Bombay,  and  that  each  should  pass  the 
letter  on  to  the  next  in  turn. 

"Here  it  is.  Tuck  it  into  your  pocket,  Nancy. 
Don't  read  it  now.  The  point  I  thought  of  was  one 
that  she  makes  about  foreign  missionaries  that  in  the 
great  loneliness  that  comes  to  them  in  the  far  off  lands, 
they  more  than  other  men,  need  wifely  companion 
ship.  She  says,  '  I  am  more  than  a  missionary 
woman  out  here.  I  am  Phil  Evans'  wife  and  that 
makes  him  a  better  missionary.'  Well,  New  York 
isn't  a  whit  behind  Bombay  as  a  difficult  field,  and 
I'm  set  now  on  helping  my  good  man  over  some  of 
his  hard  places.  I  haven't  been  enough  of  a  help 
meet  to  Ted,  Nancy." 

"Are  you  saying  Ted  to  that  most  dignified  of 
gentlemen,  Janet  ?  I  thought  you  had  abjured  nick 
names." 

"I  do  in  public,  Nancy,  but  in  private  I  use  a  pet 
name  when  I  like,  and  so  I'm  calling  my  husband 
Ted  now  and  then.  I  don't  dare  to  before  Isadore. 
She  disapproves  it  so." 

"  She  is  better,  I  fancy,"  said  Nancy  gravely,  "less 
absorbed  in  herself,  and  not  so  determined  to  be 
thought  an  invalid.  Do  you  know,  Janet,  that  if 


290  JANET  WARD 

Isadore  Fuller  can  be  cured  of  her  ennui  and  her 
nervousness  and  her  deplorable  egotism,  she  will  be 
a  testimony  to  your  good  sense  and  Christian  char 
acter  worth  having  about  ?  Seriously  she  is  a  fine 
woman  spoiled.  Now,  if  she  can  be  changed  and  be 
come  like  other  people,  it  will  be  something  to  boast 
of.  Mary  was  saying  this  only  yesterday." 

"Don't  talk  about  her,  Nancy.  I  am  finding  her 
more  of  a  sister  than  I  ever  expected  to.  I  can  com 
prehend  at  last  why  Theodore  is  so  fond  of  her  and 
I  was  color-blind  to  that  for  a  long,  long  time.  Here 
come  the  children." 

Janet  took  up  the  role  of  minister's  wife  in  earnest 
just  as  her  mother  had  done  before  her.  But  she 
was  not  handicapped  by  her  mother's  tendency  to 
low  spirits.  Janet's  disposition  had  an  even  cheer 
fulness  which  stood  her  in  stead  in  every  circum 
stance.  She  was  sunny-tempered  and  not  given  to 
extremes.  Part  of  her  discretion  was  shown  in  her 
omission  to  tell  Theodore  that  she  was  writing  less, 
but  he  found  her  at  leisure  to  walk  with  him,  to 
listen  to  his  sermons  after  they  were  written,  and  to 
entertain  him  when  he  was  tired.  They  had  each 
been  preoccupied,  he  with  his  work,  she  with  hers. 
Now  she  was  somehow  oftener  ready  for  him,  and 
in  the  evening,  she  fell  into  a  pleasant  way  of  sitting 
down  at  the  piano  and  singing  familiar  airs,  playing 
softly  and  fitfully,  and  chatting  in  the  pauses  between 
the  songs.  Not  that  they  had  many  domestic  even 
ings.  Engagements  throng  upon  a  city  pastor,  and 
Theodore  was  no  exception.  But  whenever  she  had 
him  at  home,  she  made  home  so  cozily  restful  that 
he  felt  its  warmth  and  cheer,  and  as  often  as  she 


FOUGHr  A  GOOD  FIGHT     291 

could,  she  went  out  with  him.  Though  nobody  re 
quests  or  expects  this  of  a  city  minister's  wife,  Janet 
made  calls,  and  she  had  pleasant  little  groups  of  their 
own  people  together,  and  wrote  notes  inviting  this 
or  the  other  husband  and  wife,  or  three  or  four 
young  men,  homeless  in  boarding  houses,  to  come 
to  dinner  at  the  manse.  In  short  she  was  playing 
her  old  role  of  settlement  worker  over  again,  har 
monizing,  elevating,  cheering  the  people  she  met, 
only  now  the  parish  was  her  settlement.  She  be 
came  her  husband's  fearless  critic,  telling  him  frankly 
what  she  thought  of  his  sermons,  and  holding  him 
closely  to  the  simplicity  of  the  gospel. 

"Theodore  dearest,"  she  said,  "everybody  is 
more  or  less  learned  to-day.  The  pulpit  is  not  so 
much  more  scholarly  than  the  pew,  the  men  who 
come  to  hear  you,  don't  want  literature  or  politics  or 
even  patriotism.  What  they  are  hungry  for  is  the 
Bible,  the  sweet  old  story  told  once  more.  Give 
them  the  Word  of  God,  and  oh!  never  mind  who  is 
there  or  who  isn't;  preach  to  five  as  you  would  to 
five  hundred." 

The  congregation  that  had  been  vanishing  came 
surging  back.  The  vacant  pews  were  filled  again. 
There  was  no  lack  of  money  to  carry  on  the  business 
side,  for  presently  the  tale  went  out  that  in  Mr.  Ful 
ler's  church  one  couldn't  procure  so  much  as  a  sitting, 
and  as  soon  as  that  was  rumored  abroad,  everybody 
wanted  what  was  not  to  be  had.  Once  let  a  report 
prevail  that  pews  and  sittings  anywhere  are  all  taken, 
and  there  will  be  a  general  rush  to  the  spot,  that  the 
already  crowded  church  may  be  still  more  congested. 
This  is  human  nature. 


292  JANET  WARD 

Janet  Ward,  as  a  girl,  had  been  peculiarly  mag 
netic.  No  one  had  called  her  a  beauty,  but  her  sunny 
hair,  gold  in  the  sunshine,  with  red  coppery  glints  in 
its  soft  meshes,  her  deep  blue  eyes,  the  princess- 
pose,  as  the  girls  had  called  it,  of  her  pretty  head, 
had  been  very  captivating.  As  a  woman  she  was 
more  charming  than  the  girl  had  been.  Love  had 
brought  her  an  added  grace,  an  added  confidence, 
while  it  had  taught  her  to  restrain  her  tendency  to 
over-emphasis.  Husbands  and  wives  who  belong  to 
one  another  grow  subtly  alike.  Janet  and  Theodore 
were  not  exceptional.  They  were  in  such  complete 
harmony  of  desire  and  endeavor,  that  they  grew  into 
a  very  beautiful  resemblance. 

Said  a  romantic  little  maiden  in  the  congregation, 

"If  ever  I  marry,  I  shall  expect  my  husband  to 
worship  me  as  Mr.  Fuller  worships  his  wife." 

"Well,"  said  her  father,  "you  will  have  to  take  up 
Mrs.  Fuller's  role  and  worship  him.  I  have  never 
seen  more  devotion  than  she  shows,  not  to  him  only, 
but  to  his  work.  Why,  one  rainy  Sabbath  evening, 
lately,  when  Mr.  Fuller  was  exchanging  with  some 
one  from  out  of  town,  I  happened  to  go  to  church 
early,  to  see  if  everything  was  as  it  should  be.  Our 
sexton  is  sometimes  a  little  negligent.  Whom  should 
I  meet  but  Mrs.  Fuller,  emerging  from  the  study. 
'  What  are  you  doing  here  ? '  I  said.  She  laughed 
and  explained  that  she  had  been  a  little  anxious  lest 
the  visiting  minister  should  not  find  everything  com 
fortable.  You  heard,  didn't  you,  of  her  taking  her 
husband's  place,  one  evening,  at  a  meeting  in  Cooper 
Union  ?" 

"  No,"  said  wife  and  daughter,  the  former  remark- 


FOUGHT  A  GOOD  FIGHT     293 

ing  that  she  was  perfectly  capable  of  making  a 
speech  if  she  chose. 

"Well,  it  was  a  wildly  stormy  night,  and  the 
doctor  said  that  Mr.  Fuller,  not  yet  over  the  grippe, 
could  not  safely  go  down  town,  though  in  a  closed 
carriage,  to  talk  to  a  big  crowd  of  men,  reformed 
and  reforming  drunkards  and  such.  You  know  that 
one  of  our  minister's  fads  is  rescue  work.  Mrs. 
Fuller  telephoned  to  this  and  that  man,  but  every  one 
was  engaged.  She  could  find  nobody,  so  she  simply 
went  herself  as  her  husband's  substitute." 

"How  did  she  succeed,  and  how  did  you  hear 
about  it?" 

"As  an  elder  of  the  church,  I  hear  about  most 
things,  my  dear,  that  our  pastor  and  his  family  do. 
A  person  who  was  present  told  me,  if  you  must 
know.  Well,  my  Lady  Janet  came  out  on  the  plat 
form,  as  much  at  her  ease  as  if  in  her  own  drawing- 
room,  and  just  talked  to  those  men,  as  if  they  had 
been  a  crowd  of  her  Sunday-school  boys.  She  did 
not  seem  impressed  by  their  poverty,  or  their  sins, 
or  their  temptations,  so  much  as  by  the  great  longing 
she  had  to  tell  them  how  Christ  loved  them,  and  Mr. 
Fuller  could  have  done  no  better,  had  he  been  there. 
No  wonder  he's  so  proud  of  her,  an  all-round  woman 
like  that." 

"What  are  you  weaving  to-day,  dear?  "  Theodore 
was  saying  at  that  minute  to  Janet  in  her  own  little 
book-room,  where  he  went  every  afternoon  for  a  cup 
of  tea  at  five  o'clock.  They  had  fallen  into  a  habit 
of  reserving  a  half  hour  for  themselves  then,  if  they 
could.  Janet  rose  from  her  desk  as  he  came  in  at 
the  door,  and  he  saw  the  far-away  look  in  her  eyes, 


294  JANEr  WARD 

the  look  that  always  told  that  she  was  out  of  herself 
and  busy  with  her  dreams. 

"I  am  so  glad  that  you  are  writing  again.  You 
are  doing  so  little  in  these  days." 

"Because  I've  had  other  things  to  do,  dear."  He 
took  the  slips  of  paper  she  handed  him  and  read 
aloud  the  stanzas  thereon. 

"  In  a  dream  I  seemed  to  stand 

Close  by  the  gate  of  Prayer, 
And  to  and  fro  in  the  shining  land 

Went  the  angels  strong  and  fair. 
I  heard  the  sound  of  their  feet, 

I  heard  their  wings  sweep  by, 
And  the  silver  tones  of  their  voices  sweet 

Stirred  all  the  kindling  sky. 

"  Some,  as  they  came,  were  glad, 

A  jubilant  victor  train  ; 
Some,  they  had  faces  stern  and  sad, 

The  angels  these,  of  pain  ; 
And  some  bore  wearily  back, 

As  if  earthly  sorrow's  pall, 
Could  almost  shadow  the  sunlit  track 

Where  the  angel  footsteps  fall. 

"  And  I  saw  that  all  the  host 

Paused  just  within  the  door, 
Where  the  glory  of  the  Holy  Ghost 

Abides  forevermore. 
And  there  was  a  Face  I  knew, 

A  Face  so  grave,  so  sweet ; 
And  ever  the  prayers  of  the  world  came  through 

The  gate,  that  Face  to  meet. 

"  Rapt  was  the  Face  of  Christ, 

By  the  golden  gate  of  Prayer, 
As  He  watched  for  the  souls  whose  weary  tryst 
Made  mournful  murmur  there. 


FOUGHr  A  GOOD  FIGHT     295 

Yet  oh  !  but  His  look  was  still, 

And  His  smile  to  my  heart  was  balm, 

As  over  the  earth  with  its  seething  ill 
He  gazed  in  heavenly  calm. 

"  Then  low  to  the  angel  throng 
He  spoke  and  forth  they  sped ; 

•  Go  hence  with  the  lilt  of  a  sweeter  song 

To  the  happy  hearts,'  He  said. 

•  But  these  who  seek  my  grace 

With  steps  that  have  missed  the  way 
Myself  shall  bring  to  a  quiet  place 
In  the  dark  and  cloudy  day.' 

"  Oh,  not  in  a  dream  I  kneel 

To-day  by  the  gate  of  Prayer. 
And  deep  in  my  yearning  spirit  feel 

The  peace  that  broodeth  there ; 
And  not  in  a  dream  I  ask, 

'  Dear  Lord,  whatever  it  be 
Of  sorrow,  or  pain,  or  daily  task 
I  bear,  come  Thou  to  me.'  " 

Theodore  laid  the  stanzas  down,  and  went  over  to 
Janet,  and  kissed  her. 

"It's  a  bit  of  your  heart  life,  dearest,"  he  said. 
But  further  talk  was  interrupted,  for  the  children  ran 
clamoring  in,  full  of  a  visit  to  the  Bronx  with  Aunt 
Nancy,  whose  dark  piquante  face  appeared  in  the 
doorway  behind  them,  and  an  instant  later,  the  group 
was  augmented  by  Elizabeth  Evans  who  led  a  fair- 
haired  toddler  by  the  hand. 

"I  suppose  you  have  heard  the  news,"  said  the 
latter. 

"We  never  hear  news,"  Janet  answered.  "We 
live  in  our  parish." 


296  JANET  WARD 

"So  you  do,  but  don't  you  read  the  papers? 
Nancy's  last  picture  has  taken  the  prize,  the  first  prize 
If  you  please,  at  the  Paris  Exhibition.  I  am  so  puffed 
up  on  account  of  it,  that  I  might  have  painted  it  my 
self.  She  doesn't  appear  to  mind.  The  more  honors 
Nancy  wins,  the  more  exacting  she  becomes  with 
herself." 

"Yes,  I  cried  over  my  work  to-day  before  I  came 
over  here  and  stole  these  blessed  children,"  said 
Nancy. 

"Tears  from  the  depth  of  some  divine  despair," 
quoted  Elizabeth.  "Oh,  Janet,  you've  been  writing 
again.  Show  it  to  me.  It  looks  like  verse." 

But  Janet  slipped  her  manuscript  into  a  drawer  of 
her  desk,  and  gave  her  friends  some  tea. 

"This  isn't  all  my  news,"  proceeded  Elizabeth. 
"I've  heard  from  Belle  Nelson.  She's  coming  here 
to  live  if  you  please." 

"To  live!  Belle!  I  am  surprised!"  Janet  put 
down  the  little  silver  tea-ball,  and  waited  further 
explanations. 

"  Belle  is  going  to  be  married.  Listen.  She  is  the 
betrothed  wife  of  a  judge  of  the  Supreme  Court. 
He  is  a  widower  with  one  young  daughter.  Belle 
has  two  children.  My  knowledge  of  Belle  leads  me 
to  a  positive  assurance  that  she  will  be  as  happy  as 
she  deserves  to  be." 

"  Since  you  girls  have  pitched  upon  that  congenial 
and  inexhaustible  theme,"  announced  Theodore,  "I 
will  go  to  my  study.  The  masculine  element  is  un 
necessary  to  your  happiness." 

"Good-bye,"  they  called  after  him,  as  he  disap 
peared  through  the  portiere. 


FOUGHr  A  GOOD  FIGHT     297 

They  settled  down  into  a  comfortable  and  cozy 
chat  when  he  had  gone,  for  they  so  truly  loved  Belle 
Nelson  that  anything  which  affected  her  welfare  was 
very  interesting  to  them  all.  The  children  went  to 
the  nursery.  In  the  middle  of  their  talk,  Miss  Isadore 
Fuller,  who  seldom  joined  Janet's  friends  unless  sent 
for,  and  who  was  still  as  resolute  as  ever  in  her  wish 
to  be  sent  for,  quietly  entered  the  room.  It  was  a 
small  place  at  any  time,  and  Janet  had  chosen  it  for  a 
nook  rather  than  for  the  entertainment  of  guests. 
They  sat  closer  together  on  the  divan  to  make  room 
for  Miss  Isadore. 

"I  heard  your  voices,"  said  the  lady,  "and  came 
down  to  say  that  I  am  going  away,  and  I  thought  I'd 
tell  you  first." 

"And  you  haven't  told  Theodore  or  me?"  ex 
claimed  Janet,  much  astonished. 

"For  the  very  good  reason,  Janet,  that  my  plans 
were  not  made  till  an  hour  ago.  I  have  only  known 
it  myself  since  the  postman  stopped  for  the  last  de 
livery.  I  must  explain,  ladies,  that  I  have  never  been 
reconciled  to  living  in  my  brother's  household." 
Janet's  eyes  were  round  with  surprise,  but  she 
speedily  repressed  both  look  and  speech.  "The 
semi-annual  visitations  of  Janet's  aged  aunts  have  al 
ways  been  a  trial  to  me,  they  are  such  pronounced 
old  ladies,  and  so  ready  to  misunderstand  an  invalid, 
and  Janet's  children  are  very  noisy  and  self-willed. 
I  have  had  a  great  deal  to  bear,  and  no  doubt  I  have 
been  something  of  a  trial  to  my  sister;  my  brother 
has  not  refrained  from  saying  so  at  times,  with 
delicacy  of  course.  But  my  lack  of  fortune  has  been 
a  drawback  to  freedom  of  movement.  Now  all  is 


298  JANE?  WARD 

changed.  The  letter  I  hold  in  my  hand  is  an  invita 
tion  from  my  Cousin  Maria  in  Geneva,  to  join  her 
there,  and  stay  the  rest  of  my  life  if  I  choose.  She 
sends  me  an  ample  remittance,  and  will  give  me  an 
allowance  suitable  to  her  dignity  and  my  own. 
Maria  and  I  were  like  sisters  in  our  youth.  She  and 
I  are  both  alone,  and  blood  is  thicker  than  water." 

Tears  obscured  Janet's  vision.  "  Oh,  Isadore,  have 
I  been  so  unkind  ?  I  have  not  meant  to  be." 

There  was  an  instant's  unveiling  of  Isadore's  better 
self. 

"Indeed,  Janet,  you  have  been  very  good,  and  I 
have  been  enough  to  vex  even  the  saint  you  are.  I 
shall  always  speak  well  of  you,  and  I  am  going  to 
make  reparation  for  the  trouble  I've  given  by  leaving 
you  free  to  enjoy  your  home." 

She  went  away  with  a  step  so  light  and  quick  that 
the  three  women  looked  at  one  another  as  if  spell 
bound.  Isadore,  who  had  seemed  incapable  of  any 
thing  but  a  dragging  inability  to  move  at  a  pace  faster 
than  a  snail's,  changed  like  this! 

Janet  spoke  first. 

"Girls,  I  am  sure  she  is  going  to  be  well!  She 
has  been  mind-sick  rather  than  body-sick  for  years, 
and  I've  not  been  as  patient  as  I  should  have  been. 
Father  would  have  told  me  so,  I  am  sure." 

"  Now,  don't  go  to  raking  up  straws  to  make  your 
self  remorseful,  Janet  Ward."  Elizabeth  was  stand 
ing  up,  her  little  lad  was  tugging  at  her  gown;  he  at 
least  was  tired  of  the  call.  "You  have  done  the 
best  you  could  as  strength  was  given  you,  and  a 
living  trial  is  always  harder  to  bear  than  grief  over 
a  bereavement.  Isadore  Fuller  is  a  good  woman,  but 


FOUGHT  A  GOOD  FIGHT     299 

good  women  may  sometimes  be  so  difficult  to  under 
stand  that  one  would  find  their  opposites  rather  a 
rest."  Then  Elizabeth  went  away. 

"When  the  Lord  wants  to  make  a  woman  spe 
cially  lovable  and  lovely,"  said  Nancy  musingly,  "  He 
takes  great  pains  with  her,  and  sometimes  He  culti 
vates  her  finest  qualities  of  character,  by  setting  her 
down  in  a  home,  with  some  very  fretful,  uncongenial 
person,  who  is  a  means  of  grace.  You  are  all  the 
dearer,  my  Janet,  that  you  have  learned  to  bear  and 
forbear,  in  the  years  you  have  spent  in  enduring  the 
foibles  and  tempers  of  Isadore." 

"She  is  going  just  as  I  had  been  learning  to  love 
her." 

"  You  will  love  her  none  the  less  when  the  ocean 
rolls  between  you,  and  you  don't  have  to  study  her 
moods  and  caprices  every  day.  I  think  the  dear 
Father  has  said  of  you,  '  Here  endeth  the  first  lesson.' 
Never  mind,  dear.  When  the  page  turns,  you'll  have 
another  task  set  for  you,  do  not  fear.  Then,"  drop 
ping  her  serious  tone  for  a  lighter  one,  she  finished 
by  saying,  "  when  Miss  Isadore  has  departed,  I'll 
come  round  and  help  you  refurnish  your  guest-cham 
ber.  I  have  a  lot  of  properties  about  me  that  I  want 
to  bestow  upon  you,  because  they  clutter  up  our 
apartment  and  are  in  the  way." 

Whatever  philosophy  one  may  bring  to  bear  upon 
it,  a  haircloth  shirt  next  the  skin  is  irritating  and 
its  absence  is  a  relief.  Janet  was  amazed  at  her 
self,  she  so  thoroughly  enjoyed  her  home  when  she 
had  it  again  without  any  regular  inmate  besides  her 
husband  and  children.  The  servants  were  pleased 
too.  Miss  Isadore  had  never  been  able  to  keep  maids 


300  JANET  WARD 

in  good  temper.  They  had  resented  her  frequent 
calls  upon  them  for  extra  service,  and  below  stairs 
the  comments  upon  her  had  been  far  from  flattering. 
The  old  aunties  when  they  came  to  visit,  openly 
rejoiced,  and  come  they  did  until  extreme  old  age. 
Aunt  Katharine  and  Aunt  Jessamy  were  perennials. 

"Theodore  dear,"  said  Janet  one  day,  when  she 
had  returned  from  seeing  the  two  old  ladies  off  for 
their  home,  "I'm  going  to  leave  you  and  the  little 
ones  awhile." 

"Whither  now,  sweetheart?" 

"  I'm  not  going  South,  I'm  not  going  East  or  West, 
very  far.  There  was  a  girl  I  used  to  know,  named 
Janet  Ward.  I'm  losing  her  in  the  distractions  of  the 
day  and  I'm  bent  on  finding  her  again.  If  you  don't 
mind  very  much,  I'll  take  a  train  for  Springdale, 
some  morning  soon,  find  an  upper  room  in  some 
body's  house  there  where  I  may  fold  my  wings  a 
little  while  and  rest,  and  call  on  some  of  the  old 
people  whom  I  knew  when  I  was  a  girl  and  some  of 
the  middle-aged  ones  who  were  young  when  I  was." 

"  You  are  still  young,  Janet.  Why  mention  middle 
age  ?  You  are  to  me  a  girl." 

"I  understand  you  dear.  There  are  moods  when 
I  am  eighteen;  there  are  other  moods  when  I  might 
be  eighty.  As  the  years  go,  I  am  young  of  course, 
but  I'm  just  a  little  worn  out  with  belonging  to  so 
many  people.  I  won't  stay  away  long,  dear,  but  I 
want  to  flit  to  Springdale  and  find  the  old  Janet  Ward 
again,  and  I'd  rather  go  quite  by  myself." 

And  she  did.  Mr.  Leland  was  there,  and  numbers 
of  those  she  remembered,  for  people  lived  long  in 
Springdale.  She  stayed  a  fortnight ;  she  did  absolutely 


FOUGHT  A  GOOD  FIGHT     301 

nothing  but  read  and  rest  and  sleep.  When  she  re 
turned  and  her  husband  met  her  at  the  station,  he 
said  most  cheerily, 

"I  see  that  you  found  her.     Good-morning,  Janet 
Ward.     You  haven't  changed  the  very  least  bit." 


FICTION  BORNOFFACT 
THE  INFORMING  SORT 


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By  tbi  author  of  "The  Sfaniih  Brothers" 

Under  Calvin's  Spell.  A  Historical  Ro 
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The  Setting  and  Timti  o/"%o  Vadii." 

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CHARLES  E.  CORWIN.      Illustrated,  I  2mo, 
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The  Bishop's  Shadow.  By  MRS.  I.  T. 
THURSTON.  With  illustrations  by  M. 

ECKERSON.        I21T10,   Cloth,   $1.25. 
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"A|bright,  straightforward  love  story,  full  of  youth  and  sweet 
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HERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FAC  .  '< 

uuui 


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